A year ago, I got on a plane

Time is like a reflection in the water's surface
always there, sometimes rippled
but never really there
just something looking back at us
We mark it in days, weeks, years
which fall like leaves as winter approaches
which blow in the wind
and float downstream with the driftwood
but we live in moments
smaller than seconds
that sit firmly like polished pebbles
on the swift river bottom
looking forward
years seem as far away as the ocean
but every drop will make it there
and so will the leaves
as they pass over pebbles below
mostly unaware