Walking around a thing, trying to get a better look at it
The possibilities, which are really bits of time, take the form of objects in the space… a dullness in the corner of the room, a film on the outside of the window made visible by the angle of the late afternoon sun.
The table, slightly below what would normally be a comfortable height, and the things on it, unrelated except for their proximity to one another, formed a thumb with the wall to the right of the door, allowing him to close his mind’s hand around the space and touch it’s color and shadow. A shadow that was created by the residual light from an event he wished he were present for.
What we see is an artifact of the way we look, the way we look is an artifact of time.
Falling, then not falling, moving sideways in a stream of air that controls-herds the group in a direction they go along with, but have no part in deciding. Each wondering as it falls if it will be water, or… passing through a sense of time that has as its primary component a question of temperature.