Time has a big gaping mouth. You can see it's molars. Those dirty metallic fillings lingering in the shadows. That tongue, always flapping, bumps as big as boulders in a farmer's field. It will spill the beans. It is not to be trusted. I once whispered I was young. It gave me away without warning. I once told it i feared the reaper. It waved a flag marking my position.
You can be nice to time but it won't return the favor. I give it rides on my wrist asking nothing in return. We glance at it daily checking to see if its okay. My mom keeps it in a beautiful bottle on her desk at home. She turns it every so often to watch it pour sand. I go home to visit and we play with it in front of the fire. Finding words in a box as time watches warmly. We cook with it, we drive it places. We find solace in it's achieving.
What does time do for us in return? It doesn't move at our request. It won't take a pause when something is caught in our eye. If we need a moment, it becomes impatient. Obliging us only briefly. Time, I ask you, "Where's the fire? Why will you not stop for more than just a moment? Let us sit here together in the stillness, you and me."
sunday morning on the main deck
2 days ago