Time..

lloyd-harold-clock

Time is but the click of a second-hand or a slow methodical movement towards an hour. If I could place time in a bottle, would I save everyday until eternity passes away? We tell our children there is plenty of time for this and for that, yet in the same moment we are left gazing, staring upon them wishing we could turn back the hands of time.  Our only wish, to revel once more in their faces so young, so precious, and so innocent.

Time marches on while some take their time, walking to the beat of a different drummer. We can stuck in time, mired in what was, what should have been, what never will become.  Asking for a time-out can bring some form of sanity after re-grouping our emotions, evaluating our actions, our resolve.  Time can be fleeting when surrounded by those who must go, or drag on endlessly when surrounded by those you wish would move on.  There is never enough time during sunlight hours and even less time when slumber must rule the moment.

We must learn how to manage our time, meet a timed schedule, hurry as time slips away, kill time, warrant enough time, track time, watch time fly, waste time, and pass the test of time. Time can become an illusion or merely the furthest distance between two points. Time is seen as an equal opportunity employer, the rich cannot purchase it, while the poor/destitute cannot give it away, for they have nothing but time.   You may find yourself staring blankly into the face of Father time, mesmerized while the hands of time move slowly around.

Time can become a bitter enemy or our beloved friend.   We curse its insistence while cherishing its surrender.  We honor times presence through trinkets and wall clocks that clatter and chine. Gigantic towers, statues and balls that drop at midnight. There are timepieces that glimmer, and digital markers, surrounding us, blaring in our faces at the very turn of a head. Reminding us time is not to be wasted.

What does time mean to me?

It means I am getting older and with time memories fade, my children become adults, my wife looks at me through the same weary eyes gazing back upon her. The lines of time stretched across my face, showing the world I have indeed done my time.

When it is finally time for me to go, will I rest easy knowing I have done my best as a human being while here on this earth? Will I have taken the time to warmly, honestly tell all I have welcomed into my heart that I love them?

Only Time will tell….

What does time mean to you? How do you see time in your life?

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