When the time comes
Time fascinates me. It is a hallmark of our creaturehood, a constraint from which none of us can escape. It is a dwelling place we are all born into, a place we must learn to inhabit and thrive in, if we are to live the good life. It is like a silent judge, objective, impartial, discerning. The right thing done or said at the wrong time, becomes the wrong thing. Time shows no mercy. It is stoic, marching on regardless of how we feel. As time advances, it unfurls the consequences of our acts in the present into the future. It proceeds at its own pace, dictated by its own tempo. It does not slow down, nor does it hurry up. Time leaves its marks on us. Its passage literally carves tracks through our faces, leaving smile lines and frown lines and wrinkles and creases that crisscross to form a unique terrain of our joys and sorrows. I wrote the above paragraphs almost three months ago, and I have chosen to return to it now. It is apt to take time