Time

Someday - I keep telling myself - I want to write about time.

Someday - I say I want to describe the refracted paths that time takes through the mind, soul and body.

And to sing about the ratio of each individual day lived to total days lived. This is my explanation for why the time sense of a child is so much slower and longer than for an adult.

The child who has only seen one summer. The adult who has seen 50. One-to-one. One-to-fifty.

It speeds by now like a - like a what? Like speeding simile. Like a smile. Like a mile.

And someday - to draw a picture of the relationship between time and intensity of purpose.

The watched pot that never boils. The watched day that never ends. The wait for the weekend. The vacation. The trip. The retirement. You can slow time down and counteract the speeding life ratio if you make sure to remove all meaning from your daily life.

The weekend - you say - goes so fast. The rest of the week is just a long bore.

Combine your own fascination with life - combine that with your time ratio here - and you can't get any grip on the flow. Faster than a speeding bullet and just as deadly.

Someday - when I get the time - I'd like to write about such things. But not now. Too much to do.