Shortness of time

What do you wish you could do more every day?

As a child, the days seemed to be or to take ages, whilst now each day seems so short, I always end up not having enough time.

There is so much that I consider that I still have to do. My biological and psychological clocks seem to have another tempo than the sun and world clocks. Looking through the window, the clouds and traffic slides over mother earth and newsflashes boast out of the radio. Even the newsreaders on television seem to have not enough time to present the news messages and therefore hurry so much, sometimes they fall over their own words.

Images on television flash away before we can capture them on our retina. “Zoof”, and it’s gone. The elderly in the home not taking notice any more, accepting they can’t follow any more. They gaze into space pastime. The far-away look has left this world and left the time being for what it might be.

I look at them and think of the time they were playing with their kids. Would I have wanted to be such a kid, where the time went as fast as for those adults? Today I may sit on the bench in the park, the ducks and swans gliding past the shade of the trees. The sun cuckoos to me and lifts me up, confronting me again with another day. I peer in at the window of time and history.

Behind the wall is the man who wants to climb the truncated tree, whilst I use the branches of the pollard willows to make my basket to treasure all those things that passed in time.

When I fill my basket, I can only think of so much time I still miss for the so many things I still want to do.

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