A sheet of grey-green hemp paper under the shadow of a plum branch. You draw on it with a brush, using the mouse, a finger or the arrow keys. Slow strokes hold more ink and soak outward into the fibres, and each one writes the next line of the poem in a column on the right. Holding still lets the ink pool. Quick strokes break into dry streaks and make the day race, the branch shadow sweeping across the paper as the light turns to evening. Old strokes fade as the days pass. At the end the poem is sealed with a vermilion seal cut from your own strokes.
The poem: Somewhere in time, you are here, playing. Time runs fast, then slow. It changes as you live. And it stays with you, wherever you are. Time is what you experience. That's worth protecting. So slow down when it runs too fast. Speed up for the things you love to make.