What is Time?
It begins without a beginning. A slow breath on the skin of the world. The faint, silver shimmer before the sun arrives. Not yet day, not still night—something in-between that doesn’t have a name. A stillness holds the air, not measured by clocks or calendars, but by the subtle unfolding of light and shadow. The world moves, but time, as it is often thought, does not. The candle’s flame trembles softly, folding in and out with no rush, no delay—a quiet rhythm untouched by numbers. Its light leans forward, then draws back, unbound by seconds or minutes. It is movement,…