tanner brockwell

sometimes we think that what is near is far, and what is far is near. sometimes dreams will suffice, sometimes that is nice. sometimes that is the closest we get. i was imagining an orchard again. this time the fruit was on the bough, and where are we now? but an autumn, a harvest, a dearest friend. a year i thought would never end. but the seasons roam, though they return to home. the seasons like a top, spinning around an axis. could you join in a point, our own self center made. and let the world turn, whether we were there or not.