We walk through an exhibition, “Modern Times”—art and music of an age now past. In a museum, moments are captured, set, and time seems to stop. Real is what the artist sees; it has its own truth. We walk outside. The sun sparkles on the Schuylkill River, as it did in Thomas Eakins’s time. The rowers could almost be those he painted—except that now there are women rowing, too. Cars zoom by on the street where horses and carriages once cantered. Bicyclists and runners pass us on the path. Spring is moving on, too, and summer’s lush greenery is appearing. My husband and I walk west, then circle back, and into our future.
Spring buds and blooms fall
drifting like fragrant snowfall–
time moves in circles