Time. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Back in childhood, I intensely studied the second hand on the clock as it would tick around ever-so slowly at school. The minute hand would jolt into its next place every sixty seconds, and it only took fourty-five of those excruciatingly slow pins around the clock wheel until it was time to move on to the next class.
Summers. Those long, hot and humid New Jersey summers where the sun wouldn’t set up until nearly nine and it would still be warm. The fireflies twinkling in the distance, and up close, sometimes landing on your nose. The sound of crickets chirping, or maybe not crickets, but cicadas screaming. The freezing cold air of walking inside an air-conditioned building. Waiting forever for summer to end. It always did. But slowly. Gracefully. With all the intention of extending itself forever, always promising to return.
In adulthood, summer is the same as winter, except with a bit more sun. Months fly by faster than the natural speed limit, leaving you winded. As you gain more responsibility, you lose track of what has become of the years. The only reminder is a quick glance in the mirror, or down at your hands, which now look more like the hands of your mother than your own.
You wonder if you’ll ever be able to capture that feeling of frozen time again — yet you know it’s impossible. Maybe in those few moments in the morning between the time you wake up and you rise from bed — the moments of stillness when those around you are still asleep. Sixty seconds of forever.
But in general, our mind processes information too quickly. You’re too aware. You’re too focused on long-term goals. Even if you do stop for a moment and breathe in all that is around you, it’s already too late. It’s already tomorrow.
So all we can do is close our eyes and remember the feeling of forever. It’s not quite the same as it was, but it’s the best we can do to combat, albeit momentarily, the ever-spinning web of time.
life with interest 