It’s been a week of catching up: correspondence, administration, tidying, sorting, a little parcelling – and I seem to have little to show for it. Running round in circles trying to get everything done, trying – and failing – to catch up, I’ve been thinking a lot about time.
We spend time, and we pass the time, and I wonder whether time actually stands still while we run around it, if we literally pass it in the way that we might pass someone on the street. I wonder if this accounts for my fascination with ancient art. Marks made many thousands of years ago are still visible, still present, still with us. Still: a word meaning ‘motionless’ as well as ‘yet remaining’. I wonder whether we each are born with a pot of time, as you might have a pot of gold, and whether we spend it, never knowing how much there is left in the pot. A weird kind of bank deposit account, from which you can only withdraw, and with no statements, no balances, no warning of when it’s going to become empty. How much more time do any of us have? It’s finite, whatever the amount, and whatever we do.
And now I think it’s time for a cup of tea 🙂