“The hours here are flat and round, disks of gray layered one on top of the other...they move slowly, at a grind, until it seems as though they are not moving at all. They are just pressing down...”
“Time seems to overlap, like the shadows of leave pressing down on other leave, layer upon layer.”
“Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small; Though with patience He stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.”
“Reality isn‘t round, it‘s flat. There are edges where you can fall off and this October when I moved to Maine, I fell off one.”
“Not the man that I use to be. Wouldn't even recognize him now...if he was right here standing next to me. Just moving forward, pressing on down the roads helping all that I see... evoluting daily for the very good of me!”
“We all just keep moving, September. We keep moving until we stop.”