We don’t often think of time as anything but a handful of moments standing next to one another, shoulder to shoulder, end to end. Their fated successors still competing for the win, running headlong into nothing. And always, in the end, sidelined long before they fade away.
If we hone our imagination, time may seem a bit more circular. Bending back in towards itself, forever recycled with patterns and prophecies and unheeded warnings. Rarely would we object even if we understood.
But time can also be a series of crisscrosses, running first this way then that. No immovable agenda, yet flawlessly designed. We are free to scamper across the broken patches like some goosed up squirrel, darting and then diving between the hollow branches. Mistaking every movement for cheap progress, every distraction for a life in full.
Copyright (TZampino) 2020
Image Credit: Pixabay