Time

In the wind He rushes past me.

The movements of the planets show me His journey.

The feel of my child’s hand in mine, her fingers grown long and her hand growing into mine, carves upon my heart the truth of His relentless march.

Time.

As a child, if I thought of Him at all, I thought of Him as distant, inconsequential, and unfathomable.

As the years play out, the marching song He has composed becomes Life, and soon He is not so distant, He is of the highest consequence, and yet, as unfathomable as ever.

Life has become a time-lapse film, the frames advancing more rapidly with each year Time gains.

As He subtracts from me, Time adds to Himself.

He remains ever the same, ever steady, never uncertain.

My ambivalence toward Him is my defense as I come to the realization that my mortality is His perpetuity.

As His marching tune plays on, its tempo ever increasing, my esteem of Him must only grow. And He becomes a kind of friend, as I watch my life advance, my years subtracting one by one.

He remains ever the same, ever steady, never uncertain.

Someday He will hold my hand as He gently ushers me into the haven of His infinity. I will smile, and then I will forget Him as I become a fragment of Him, a tiny piece of Time’s soul.

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