TIME: A DELICATE SAW

We are all familiar with the many instruments and calendars that are designed to measure time. Sun Dials were looked upon as reliable measures, and watched as we do clocks today.

However, how have we looked upon and considered the element of t-i-m-e?

I look at such as "the delicate saw of time". It works without anyone driving the long handle back and forth. It is on "automatic", a word used so frequently in modern times.

If we were to live out each day counting the minutes and hours with continual significant attention, we would tire of the monotony and drudgery of this demanding task.

And yet, if we do not plan adequately and keep a daily log, we will run scattered and partially aloof, turning our attention in too many directions at once. This could allow for spontaneity and surprises both welcome and unwelcome!

Maybe that is why vacation periods have been devised.

Now, I am looking at the size and edges of a large saw in my mind's eye. The teeth are sharp, the handle swift, the motion steady as it is wielded. Time can fly from its handle, or blow in tidbits, or stubbornly stick before flying. This is a microcosm of the time allotted to our lives.

I am including herein a poem I wrote at age 50 while living in Argentina. It is my view, review, and plea for expansion of time.

Please give it a read. Thank you,

BURY ME UP in the SKY

Oh this death business

Can be murky and cold,

Where no coffee is served

And birds are no longer aloft.

I want no part of it,

Yet each hour chimes its bludgeon

Don't give me Rest-in-Peace.

Give me boat rides to castles

Tipping the coffin

To varnish its hue.

Make ready the dirt bed,

To send me off to the skies?

Miss Rheingold