time with time
Earlier this year I happened to be up past midnight on the day ‘clocks are turned’. The fascination might have worn out for those who grew up here, but I was amused by the disappearance of all those seconds between two and three am.
It makes me think of a time when we didn't know the time all the time. Time feels solid now. I envy day dreamers and afternoon nappers seemingly unburdened by the weight of it. Able to experience time as abstract, fluid and relative. Forgiving even.
There's always science fiction to remind us that the organisation of time is man-made. a language devised of years, months, weeks and hours. sometimes I forget it’s mine to mould and fold in to it’s waves instead. I think there was a short period during the pandemic years when we started to reclaim our power over time again — as we faced the existential state of being, time was flexible.
At a certain age it becomes apparent that time flies with time. We conceive it as an equally distributed resource, but it's painfully obvious after a while, that each second is a lot larger for the young. At thirteen I have memories of prolonged boredom between hours, and at thirty, I find five pm arrive suddenly without warning.