A slow fire, crackling around our bones, a sudden pop surprises us, a cornerstone of our lives suddenly gives way;
A beloved movie star, an aging parent, God forbid, a child, vulnerable without the scars, the temporal burns to warn them away from the vicissitudes of life.
Time, a morass of moments, half-remembered, blurring between celebrations, festivals, acknowledgment, and failure, a personal relativity, compressed when one needs it, expanded during the dark tea-time of doctor’s visits, interviews for jobs, long conversations with aging relatives who have the same admonishments, every visit, unable to remember anything else.
Those are the worst fires of time, the ones which portend the unexpected, the inane, a conflagration unexpected.
Time is a fire in which we all burn.
For some an ember of a life barely lived, wealth or influence notwithstanding, for others a towering inferno of connection, relationships, a perpetual grass-fire of interaction, making each moment worth ten.
Our bell, the final account for which time’s fires are extinguished, will reveal the scope of our swath across the world, our willingness to risk ourselves, to live fully or tentatively, to expend our talents or hide behind our excuses, this is our choice.
Forged from our time, our ambition, our concern for each other, in the fires in which we all burn.
Time is an illusion created by us, for us, to mark the decisions and consequences of our lives.
It is not our master or our slave.
It lights our way if we but remember, that like all fires, for each of us, it will fade and only what is forged there remains.
TIME IS © Thaddeus Howze, 2019; All Rights Reserved