It was a dewy morning, one that dished out delicious summer sun; a bonus day in early October. Time was on my mind. It REALLY bugs me to be late. I live by the adage, “If you’re early, you’re on time, if you’re on time, you’re late, and if you’re late, you’ve missed the bus.” And had I not been stopped by a train AND delayed by road construction, I would have slid-in-on-the-dot to meet my friend for our morning walk. Two minutes tardy. Graciously, my friend took it in stride.
We both consider our morning walks prized time. Not only do we get our exercise fix, but we also, in just a little over an hour, solve all the world’s problems. We cover everything from global warming to where to find a size 14 men’s dress shoe (in 24 hours) for a grandson who, at the last minute, decided to go to his first homecoming dance.
Time.
Do you remember your first high school dance? Can you think THAT far back?! I don’t know about you, but sometimes that period of my life feels like it was a hundred years ago. And then there are moments when it feels like only yesterday.
Time.
It’s a curious thing; never enough of it – sometimes too much. Sometimes it moves too fast, sometimes too slow. A single night can be too short or too long, depending on your circumstances. It’s the ultimate paradox, a real puzzler.
Anyone who has cared for a child, a newborn in particular, knows as Gretchen Rubin aptly declared, “The days are long, but the years are short.” Only once is that precious baby a day old, a week old, a month old, a year. And then you turn around and 18 stares at you like, “Why are you surprised?!”
If you think about it, every human being experiences fleeting moments that drip, lickety-split, like ice cream under unforgiving summer heat: The bloom of a rhododendron, the sun as it sinks beneath the horizon, a long-awaited vacation, and time spent with a loved one.
After all, according to Saint Mahrer, “Time and tide wait for no man.”
Unless you’re a wide-eyed kid eager for Christmas morning. Or when the finish line of the Chicago Marathon is nine miles ahead and lactic acid has set into your legs. Or when you’re sitting on pins and needles to hear that your Marine son safely returned to the states from his infantry duties in Afghanistan. Or you’re stranded in the middle of a snowstorm with no safe-haven in sight. Or when a medical diagnosis looms ahead. Or …
If only we had a gear shift for time; to slow it down or speed it up.
Perhaps contemplating the issue of time leaves you a little bumfuzzled too. All we can do is the best we can with the time we are given, keeping in mind, “If you don’t have time to do it right, when will you have time to do it over?” in the succinct words of John Wooden.
Time.
Step into your time and own it – because you do. Mold it. Let the “Aw” and the “Awe” walk with you on the daily. Hold it in your hands like the precious gift that it is and let life bedazzle you every chance you get.
If this hasn’t been your practice up to this point, all I have to say is: it’s about time.
About Autumn
Mary Rita Schilke Sill © 2023
Autumn tip toes
Across the tops of trees
Like a toddler dragging a drippy orange
Paint brush.
Acorns
Louder than rain
Thunder and thud
While squirrels scurry and scuffle
To collect their fair share.
Fog
Lifts its ghostly mask
To uncover breathtaking beauty;
Soybeans
Like gold coins
Atop a colossal treasure chest.
And the bouncing voice
Of summer
Waves
From STIR LNG
A 911 Cabriolet
As it drives away with the top down
And hollers back,
“Don’t forget me.”