Winter Transitions ~ Time is Fleeting

Greetings Dear Reader,

Two years ago today I lost a friend very suddenly.  He went to work and died.  He had plans to fulfill and promises to keep.  He was only a building away from me.  I saw the ambulance and it did not occur to me that I was losing a friend.  I did not learn of it until an hour later when someone called me.

The world moves at its constant consuming pace and two more years slip through the glass.  The entire idea of time becomes more precious as the sand migrates downward.  I like Pratchett’s imagery of our lives being represented by an hour glass that will eventually run out.  It is often too late that we realize every grain matters.

As I make my winter transitions this year I realize how much time I have to pursue things that really matter.  I am becoming better at doing so.  It is still there, the wish to go back and redeem some of the time lost and not used.  That wish is also a waste of the present. 

The transition to the New Year is the time marker we all share.  Starting the New Year gives us all some measure of hope.  It is also the scapegoat for our wasted time from the previous year.  Time is given to us as a gift.  I must not squander it further.  The bell will one day toll for me. 

Time – Pink Floyd

Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day

Fritter and waste the hours in an off-hand way

Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town

Waiting for someone or something to show you the way

Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain

You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today

And then one day you find ten years have got behind you

No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun

And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking

Racing around to come up behind you again

The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older

Shorter of breath and one day closer to death

Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time

Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines

Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way

The time is gone, the song is over, thought I'd something more to say

Home, home again

I like to be here when I can

When I come home cold and tired

It's good to warm my bones beside the fire

Far away, across the field

The tolling of the iron bell

Calls the faithful to their knees

To hear the softly spoken magic spell

Wishing you joy in the journey,

Aramis Thorn

Mat 13:52 So Jesus said to them, "That is why every writer who has become a disciple of Christ’s rule of the universe is like a home owner. He liberally hands out new and old things from his great treasure store.”

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