The Love of a Grandfather Clock

Tick tock.
Tick tock.

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The hand of the clock methodically chants as it reminds me that time has passed. And too much so. The wind and the rain sweep through the meadows, creeks dry as the summer sun creeps into the soul of the earth. Life falls to the ground with the auburn autumn leaves, and the universe freezes over until the wind returns. With all of these things, we become seasoned.

But with time, the cracks of Hearts once broken are no longer noticeable, and ever so often these cracks heal with a material much stronger, and resistant than what was first a complete organ. Infants grow brave-their bodies stretch & their minds weigh heavy with the wisdom of the world. Yet, the lucky few who have known many dawns grow weaker. Pain enters the bones of those who have felt time. Their spines are taught with the tension of defying gravity for decades; what are undoubtedly the most weathered and wise minds to be found…begin to forget the mere act of telling time .

Yes, time is like the wind and though the wind may seem to cease, it does not. Though calmness surrounds you like a blanket , or stagnant moments of want for the passing of time find you, and eyes may not see what can only be felt, time is always in motion…like the hand of this oak grandfather clock before me…

tick tock,

tick tock.

Time wears at the most impeccable of stones, & slowly but never nonetheless… The sturdiest of all is no longer firm, nor steadfast but through every granule of sand the eternally unmoving rock becomes free with the wind to soar through blades of grass, across seas, through the mountains and into the starlit sky. You see, time is my love for you. It does not slow, nor quicken but remains stronger than any tangible force. Though I may only be a rock, with time, our love shall see me fly through the constellations and sweep in and out of the tallest trees. A bird, free & beautiful with not any sense of clocks- ill be.

All time that was lost, all love that was not given-shall be found. And though I cannot return it to you, nor control the wind no more than I can stop time’s ticking. I … can always return to you. And I will, for my love for you is time and it has an infallible way of finding its way back to us.

Tick tock.
Tick tock.

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