Life has its own inner time

"Sometimes, as I watch a couple offer one another a spoon of fig-and-nuts ice cream, I cannot fail to feel physical pain remembering promises we've offered each other like these two creatures beyond me. I tilt my eyes up and look at this giant Indian almond tree, quite old, tall and imposing. It is the end of fall now, and it is again full of young and green leaves. Months ago, it was covered in red, then weeks later naked and vulnerable to the elements, letting the grey sky pass through its branches. I could anticipate the moment when the green would come again like I can foresee the moment where these young leaves grow, grow old and red and stained and finally fall to the ground, inanimate. When I think of that, my first impulse is to look at them and then look more at them, and never stop looking at them and soak in their changing beauty, moment by moment, stain by stain. Then I brutally decide to take care of something else and let the back of my mind deal with the interruption. Life, like leaves, has its own inner time."