Since my last post...
I have been looking at the artifice of time.
Why do we parcel and portion the day into minutes seconds and hours. What are days... thos are defined by sunrise and sunset, moon rise and moon set. Seasons are defined by temperature, foliage, growth death and quality of light.
But really, what is a second? What is a minute but and arbitrary 60 seconds. An hour even more arbitrary being built on the shaky foundation of seconds and minutes. Who defined them, where did this dicing of the day light come from.
I am ignorant.
But the older I grow, the faster it flits away on the wings of hummingbirds and snap dragons.
Puppette's face is white.
The floor is lower and harder for both of us to rise from.
There is not enough arbitrary hours in the definition of sun up to sun down to play fiddle, love K, work, love my dogs, train my dachshund, fly my kites, talk to my nephews, stare out the window at a furious passing winter storm with sheets of rain you see in movies.
It goes faster.
When summer vacation came in school, it lasted a long time. By high school it flashed by like a roadside billboard advertising your life while the car sped by at 65 and the windows allowed a whirlwind of sound and smell and activity to mix around you.
I work in geriatrics, by definition people over the arbitrary age of about 60-65. They are defined by years, measured in the farthest most point the sun reaches at solstice in the summer and winter. Summer and winter are defined by heat and life and cold and dormancy. My geriatric patients are young and old in heart. Some stove in and rounded down by the erosion of the seasons and the defined. Some stand slightly eroded to soft edges but still solid and resolute to stand and resist the arbitrary minute, second and hour that pulls away your life.
I am not old. No, in comparison to my average patient, I am still young and alive and have so many things to see and do.
If only there was enough time.
What is time?
What is time.