When you cross fifty, it’s like breakfast is every 15 minutes.
Go ahead and use whatever means to harness it and calculate it, it still remains elusive. Calendars, clocks, seasonal rituals, even opening day, cannot capture time as clearly as our perception of it
He lately feels it rushing by quickly when reading. Hours disappear unrecognized. Sure, he was lost in someone else’s world and the chimes went unheard. He wonders if his time would better be spent in his world, living each tick. He has also noticed that strenuous physical labor, directed at a productive project or goal, is generous with time, at least his perception of it.
So when his first Lab rose up off the old wool army blanket often used around a fire while camping, and stood poised and alert to a distant approaching crunch of forest matter, time stood still. The distance he had walked in was considerable, but the illumination provided by the fire was minimal. The dog offered a long persistent growl in the direction of the oncoming stranger.
“It seemed like it took a very nervous hour for those two campers to finally reach the fire light and show their faces,” he later reflected. Of course they had only gotten lost hiking the rim of our greatest canyon and wished to share the light and warmth of his fire. It all made for an evening of welcome conversation, even through the broken English emanating from his new German companions.
The dog still stirred and moaned for what seemed like a long time.
