it's a waking dream. finding ourself in a familiar place, but only small details are out of place.
there is more patina on the outside of the house; fresh coats of paint sheen and reflect differently than previous layers. the soil around the trees are tilled and smell of heavy manure.
time has surely passed, the earth has spun on its axis at a continually shifting amplitude, and even the leaves had adjusted their angles to meet the movement of us in relation to the sun.
the height of some trees; the shape of some bushes. it's all like a grand experiment of find-the-differences, and there is really no prize for all sense of discovery. just a sweeping sense of lost memories a twinge of lament, and a deep acknowledgment of the passing of time.
take it slow tonight. savor each moment, each taste, each minute spent with someone you love, or each silence of standing alone in a room all by yourself. what blisses are experienced in a life slowed down.