Six o'clock in the morning and I am up and ready for the day. Coffee on the porch was invigorating. The air is crisp, the moon was shining through the mist, and only the church bell accents the quiet of this little town. How lonely the bell sounds as it keeps track of the parade of hours that mark the day.
Time, what a mysterious concept. When you are very young, there are times when time seems to be bathed in molasses. The lazy days of Summer can be the definition of lethargy. Then comes the two weeks before the beginning of school and time seems soaked in adrenaline. There are the teen-age years when time seems to have no direction and be slipping by. These are followed by the years when you are raising a young family and time seems to be an unforgiving task master. Up at five, hustle to work, work till nine in the evening, hurry home, go to bed, up at five, and the question keeps reiterating "What is the point? Will I ever be good enough? If I get sick how am I ever going to feed this family? Why is there never enough time to hold these dear ones close and strengthen the bond that was forged the first moment I saw them? What is the point?". Then comes the time when time no longer holds the lash of endless routine. A time when you can go to bed at three in the afternoon if you feel like it and get up at five in the morning because you choose to. A time when only the lonely church bell marks the passage of the day and then the tolling of bells will mark the end of your days as the solemn ebony procession announces the end of time's mastery, the final victory of entropy over chaos. Oh but what a glorious chaos it was! Full of mobiles and bedtime stories and two wheel bicycles and Girl Scouts and piano lessons and guitar lessons and ballet lessons and prom dresses and driving lessons and SATs and FSAFs and suddenly it is over. Time passes and slowly you realize that you have done well. You didn't know what you were doing, you had no plan, the bustle of the moment and the scurrying to make ends meet left no time for planning but somehow you made it. Time slows down, giving you time to reflect on the passing of that glorious chaos. You made mistakes but they were your mistakes and must be part of your legacy. One more bedtime story would be nice and getting out the tool to remove one more set of training wheels would be nice. Sitting in the passenger seat, beaming with pride, and saying "You're too close, slow down." would be nice. I guess that the only worthwhile advice for living should be "Slow down." but I didn't take it and no one else will. Time is the master of all, unless you have a Tardis and a sonic screwdriver.