Clouds sail past a static window and the man within observes only what is moving within the frames, while all else is rendered unseen and unknowable to him. As time flows over memory, carrying it along its currents, he sees only what is shown within his skull. Tiny moments, trapped in a spinning zoetrope, never repeating, always changing. Once seen, now forgotten. And who is the last person to remember these clouds? Their form. Their nature. As soon as they are out of sight they are gone forever. He is left only with the picture of the wind and the echoes of an empty sky.
Paddy Dobson
15th December 2021