The love story of time as I look up upon a wide open field, the clouds making their ways of being and the trees holding pathways I knew were there. Sitting down and folding blank pieces of paper in half I was ready to add black droplets of india ink to one side. Small droplets in random places and when all those droplets were ready I pressed the paper together creasing it smoothly from side to side. What would happen when opened was a design. Someone might say there exists a message within, a vision of what was in me I could interpret if asked. Others might say turn it into something more than me. But as I sat there in the middle of it all I thought how very beautiful this is. A recorded memory when heard all around us. Left there purposely. The clouds know this as do the trees and grasslands. The love story of time speaks endlessly. S. Kamber