Dates, numbers, digits...

They keep on going on like the shadow at the window glass keeps moving and the register keeps clanging. There are bits and fragments though that don't go away, no matter how many times the shadow traverses the same tread. No matter, what giant distances the digits separate us in time. There lingers these bits and fragments: clear blue skies and the sudden thunders of early-evenings, smell of burnt leaves and gathering hustle on the street anticipating jameson laced whimsies. The shadow keeps moving, distances too, everything stays the same. Digits order themselves neatly: numbers turn into curses turn into dates that refuse to change.