It’s the new year outside, but in the shadows of the rooms here time is flowing backwards. Spring ebbs in reverse order and leaves leap from the ground in autumn. The process is speeding up, each season a flicker in an unseen projector. Past and present give up their dead and light and dark merge into the radiant grey of October. There’s distant music and the smell of water, framed and funneled by the window of time’s own cell.
Some moments last longer than others. Here, the color shift and tinsel of a Christmas morning. There, a cut glass sky and the smiles of shared coffee. There again, the stately and silent dark. All dropped into the killing jar of the mind, ripe for sentiment and simulation.
In between the ticks of the clock, something else has made a home. Moments not so easily captured and packaged. A sky heavy with crows, which turned to music on further consideration. The subtle warmth of a vacancy just made in a conversation. Smoke and dice.If I don’t wish you a Happy New Year it’s not out of malice or neglect, I swear. I just find myself uncertain of the time. Perhaps I’ve missed my stop in the bustle, or find myself facing the business end of the minute hand. Either way, please accept my humble wish for a little more time for us all.