A tree does not count its rings.
A river does not remember how many times
it has touched this stone.
*
An old man on a bench
watches the pigeons.
He does not think: eighty years.
He thinks: the bread is gone.
*
Light from a star
traveled four years
to land in your eye
at the very moment when you
were thinking of something else.
*
A number is an agreement.
We agreed to count,
and now it seems to us
that time exists.
*
A child asks:
—How much is "a lot"?
And no one knows the answer,
because the question is honest.
*
Eight hundred—
just three digits.
Or it is the morning
when you woke up
and thought:
I wonder what today will bring.
This is not about me. It is about numbers, time, and how we assign meaning to what
is, in itself, just a sequence.
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