Time marches on. Many things and feelings have come and gone, but time still marches on. Yet, I am not sure if time is a constant. In fact, I think it isn’t. Somtimes it rolls along like a pebble at the bottom of a stream as the water rushes by with simple fury. Other times it seems to groan awake like a steam locomotive, and it presses on with raw power leaving the lone cowboy to spur his horse and charge after the caboose. Time is fluid. It is not constant, but it never stops marching on.