Time Is Of The Season


We are but leaves falling from a tree, to feel some distance between, two points never truly severed. We move amongst great currents, within an immense dream. Some drift aimlessly without obstruction, others get up caught on the ground. All once youthful portrayers, full of contrast and color, an abstract spontaneous innocence sees the world as it is. As it was, the potential seems to fade with the slip of days, as time waves us on. These narrow corridors that we may walk, yet infinite is the season that allows the weather to change, shedding its winter for the warmth of spring.

– Josh Fleming

Image by: Rasmus Hjortshøj



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