Gardens of Time

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Groves, flowers and dusk: the passing of time as a garden that slowly undresses.

A dense, timeless twilight summons us to the eternal grove. — Hours do not pass in a timeless eternity. An immense instant in an endless unfolding. An absolute Now that holds a suspended silence. Every moment within a nothingness in which everything happens.
Time strips my memories bare. — We are not masters of our memories, while the shadows point us to the black nostalgia of what has been, high in the green-gold of dusk.
On tiptoe we cross the dark groves. — Just when I thought I had all the answers, they changed the questions. Darkness spreads its dense wings in a night crested with stars.
And time slowly stripped away the ancient innocence of the carnations. — Time steals the original purity of things upon the wasteland of dreams. The sun rules the open sky while the indifferent horizon yawns.
What is born arrives marked by time. — Time and its black gardens. That faceless master who conjures our heartbeat. I feel the whisper of the instant become my master.
The lily could not endure in the dark garden of oblivion. — Among lilies of glass and nameless light, silence wove its web of oblivion over the golden hills, now without memory. Beauty cannot withstand indifference.