A clock is such a simple device. It does little more than toggle from one state to another. As it ticks from a zero to a one, a low to a high, a pendulum swing from one extreme to the other, it is made to count.
Tick, a second passes. Tick. The count builds. Tick. Enough have passed, and the count rises, and a minute has gone. Tick. More seconds give way to minutes, and flow into hours. Tick. A day is filled.
Can we cheat time? Can a second be stretched when we need more time? Moments to love and laugh seem too short, and too few. Break the clock. Make time stand still. Make this moment last forever. Smiles, birthday cake, grandma’s lap, hot summer days, cool starry nights.
The clock is just a machine. It only counts time; it doesn’t change the stream of life that passes. The clocks could all break, but time creeps along. Relentless, and steady.
The thing we once knew, that would never end, has become a memory. An almost forgotten friend. Those days in the park with nothing to do. Friends, faces, and names you could never forget. What ever happened to… what was his name?
Time seems to change into a full-on stampede. My clock still ticks as slow as a snail, but time seems so different, more rapid and fleeting. There used to be some little kids who lived with me once. They filled my house, just a little while ago, but there isn’t a sign of them. Where did they go?
Changing so many diapers. When will it end? Bruised knees, messy rooms, and out riding bikes. Then it seems like suddenly, nobody is home.
No. Wait. I think I hear them coming. They’re just as messy, and playful as ever, but these days they don’t call me dad, only grandpa.
