concurrent.day
Two rivers reach the sea at the same instant.
Branches do not know they are branches.
The candle and the sunrise share no cause.
Light arrives in many places at once.
Bees in different fields sip the same hour.
A chord is many notes that agreed not to wait.
Each lane keeps its own clock.
A thread waits, another runs; together they are weather.
The lock is held by no one, briefly.
Crossings leave no trace in the lanes themselves.
Synchrony is what stillness looks like to a process.
All threads arrive. None continue alone.
Work migrates without protest.
Borrowed contexts are still places.
The afternoon redistributes the morning.
A scheduler keeps no preference.
The hour grows quieter; tasks finish where they fell.
A future that no one awaits resolves anyway.
Light cools by degrees, in many places at once.
All threads bend toward the same horizon.
All things that happened together, happened together.