the arrow of time

all there is a constant trickle of words that mean nothing   maples bud may leaves such tender green by august darkened october yellowed november papery brown leaf after leaf fallen returned to the earth as if they never were and this is true they never were   these letters these pixels forming the characters you read they are the same meaningless thing going on and on as if they were taking you somewhere besides your useless grave who cares?  words flow like water carrying with them all things   all things erode   you are born live and die the swifter the current the faster things move but after all the time is inconsequential