Thrawn

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'A time comes when the inner life is mostly about memory.'

Do you know when that is, that moment when time is reconfigured, draws focus?

'..recovering a single happy moment from the past, like some random snapshot found between the pages of a book, a single moment of light and specific colour to slide into before the gold of this world goes into shadow.'

And now book and word, image and deed, crumble before your eyes, without shape or inner form. The bewildering galmour of the world in these fragments, in the hands struggling to hold on to what they always knew. When winter comes around again, will you remember? What cast of mind and whither your heart?