I’ll watch a bird, and a week goes by. I’ll bask in the sun and find a month already gone.
But I’ve always been here; it’s time that’s tricky. It’s time that spins past, so fast I can’t see. It’s time that moves, while I’m standing still. Then I look to my parents’ faces. I look in the mirror. And I see time has already gotten us, right there, under the eyes.
My friends are my time-keepers, too. They tell me when time’s passed. They invite me inside of the clock. And it’s good to be there, where there are people and potlucks.
But I do not live inside of the clock. There are no arrows marking the lines, telling me which way to go, how long it’ll take me to get there. I do not count the numbers of my days down to the second. I barely look at the clock.
Instead I watch a bird and a week goes by. I’m 80, I’m 20, I’m seven again. I remember, I live, I imagine. Sometimes, I disappear all together and time forgets me completely. I forget, too. I float. I breathe. There is no rush to be anywhere.
Because I’m always right where I am.
Wish you could write more and stop scrolling? Read my latest motivational article for phone-addicted writers here.
Jessica Barratt 