There is something beautiful about clocks, but they seem to move so fast.
It’s true time speeds up with age, or maybe, we just speed up busyness and slow down awareness. I don’t know.
An early childhood memory is sitting still watching a wall clock and realizing that if you stare straight, stare straight and concentrate, you can see the minute hand move each second in the tiniest of tiny movements.
Not intentionally, I sit now staring at a clock deep in thought. Slowly an awareness of time dawns.
The pendulum swings back and forth, back and forth.
Through glad and mad, happy, sad, good and bad, its cadence clicks each second away with no second chances or redos for that precise second.
What is, is. What isn’t, isn’t. What could’ve, would’ve or should’ve happened in that time is now past and inconsequential, gone forever.
I become totally absorbed in watching the pendulum swing back and forth. Ever so quickly, ever so slowly, I feel my heartbeat align with its rhythm.
More awareness dawns. I see time’s pendulum rhythmically swinging, like a guillotine, over the neck of life, with no parole, and no stay of execution.
The days are numbered.
Day by day, hour by hour, second by second, time subtracts itself away in a steady minus column ending on the day of one’s death.
Less busyness, more awareness.
This day, this hour, this minute, this swing of the pendulum, it shall not return.
Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12