No, not like molasses

She is slow like children;
the clock before she arrives is different.
The morning unfolds slowly, but she runs
-this way and there-
and when she arrives, flushed and happy,
here has moved only a little.
...and the flowers have new colours here
like her shoes, which are the same
and don't sound at all like falling into water,
their swishing a sound I don't quite remember.