I have recently been woken by time passing.
I feel its arrival at 3.00am in the morning, pressing on me a little, a quiet advocate of panic and despair.
It is not a surprise, perhaps.
The recent anniversary of the death of my father, with cemetery visits; followed closely by the turn of the year – another year gone, and how many to go? – these are reminders of time.
They helpful signs, in their way, mile stones passed; but sometimes feel more like mill stones, pressing down hard on my chest.
After a disappointing experience, people sometimes say, ‘That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.’ I have said it myself.
However, this is true of every hour, they don’t return, and it doesn’t usually matter, though sometimes at 3.00am it does.
Not that time wishes us harm, and if I make him an enemy, I make myself a fool.
Time is here and time is now; a persistent but cheery fellow, ever easing us from one adventure to the next.
We can argue if we wish, and resist with tenacity and defiance; some do.
Although we are happier when we walk in step with time, when we allow its present voice; letting go and taking up as appropriate.
I suspect time only presses at night when I refuse to hold its hand.