I
dream of timepieces that change shape and colour according to the season. A
watch that is a forest turns brown as autumn approaches, blossoms effervescent
wattle in August. Corresponding amusement at expressions for time. Time is
running out as it scampers through the night across a clockface. Time is of the
essence, as clocks and watches distil into large, disproportionate droplets of
indeterminate liquid. Later we are in a city forest. A colleague has gift books
that open upon glade statuary growing and changing shape. We must verify if
these are Turners and obviously are the work of Turner.
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