The Steeds of Mananaan

The semester is over. So much is changing, little things, but everything; great shifts are taking place, subtly, all the time. Nothing ends, it just progresses, adopts the form of something else. We like to think that the flux came unto us, that perhaps we can outgrow it, but we were born into it, and it will outlive us. But I do wonder if there comes a point when some things just become immutably certain. What is this evolutionary trajectory, and how does its shape shift slyly as it does.

"Through the barbicans the shafts of light are moving ever, slowly ever as my feet are sinking, creeping duskward over the dial floor." -Ulysses