Nothing has changed except for time, and all time is measured by days and years, there are moments that seem eternal and there are years that seem like moments, these fleeting moments which evade us in the blink of an eye, meaningless moments which slip by unnoticed, totally unimportant to others, akin the space in time as the ticking of the second hand on the clock, second by second.
Time eludes, time forgives, and time makes changes while still leaving the scars behind, to be remembered in solitude, accompanied in serenade, by the soundless drift of a distant cloud above in the sky, on a blue bird day.
They arrived with their bags filled with their personal vanities.
Those philosphers, that intelligentsia, smugly confident that time was on their side, that nothing would change for them.
Or so, they thought.
Time went by, and we noticed, in tow the changes came.
If you were made to describe the color of the sky to a blind man,
how would you begin? Would you struggle for words, your first cry being, ' I can't!
How would you describe the color blue, or a black night sky, or a shining star, to a man who is blind.
How would you and I relate that which we picture in our mind