All they do is glisten, beckoning and prodding with gold dipped fingers. A hazy taunt, washed in soft delightful hues of eternal summer, and dying evening light and young tight smiles. Glimpses of an existence that now is rusted leaves scattered across a dusty path, an empty wind sighing in forlorn cadence, the hopeless reaches of a sleepy dipping sun. The world is spinning on its axis taking me with it and yet leaving me quite behind.