I try to make time my friend. Though I really only like him in retrospect.

(let’s go back with Time to year 12, to Peter Skyzynecki’s poem, Immigrants at Central Station 1951) where

Time waited anxiously with us behind upturned collars

And”space hemmed us against each other like cattle bought for slaughter

(I apologise for the visceral imagery).

Space brings us together, and time leaves us there.

I had a think about Space and Time, and decided I like Time better. Perhaps I understand him more. I would possibly say that I am geographically challenged. These days I’m getting better with left and right. Geography was never my forte, but History and dates and events always stood clearer.

Time persists in the cold, in winter. But Time runs wild in the spring.

Time is tricky. I don’t like him when he lingers, but I hate it when he slips away.

There will always be enough time. And if it seems not, we could just ask God for more. He is of course, outside of time. Time spent with God is like time spent in Narnia, it passes so differently. On the other hand, God can always step into time; and hold the sun in place like he’s done (twice) for Joshua and Hezekiah.

I am thankful for time. Though time is unpredictable, Time always tells.

Time tells us which way to go. Indeed we remain until it is time.

Time passes and soon enough we will stumble into Spring.

“Lately I’ve been thinking that maybe the human soul grows best at the pace of a tomato and not a combustion engine. ” – Jon Foreman

You can’t force time to hurry up. You cannot eat unripened fruit.

In due time, the fruit will be ready for harvest, then it is time to go ahead and gather.

Sometimes Time waits, but then again sometimes we wait

While time ran ahead

Along glistening tracks of Steel.” (Skrzynecki)

And maybe its time that we caught up with time,

and saw the future that it held on those glistening tracks of steel.

Maybe time has been wasted by

“a hundred indecisions… visions, and revisions” (Eliot)

when all the while time is running ahead.

Fear not, there will be time. And

in a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.” (Eliot)

We are to remain. Until it’s Time.

*T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock from The Best Poems of The English Language (edited by Harold Bloom)

*Peter Skrzynecki, Immigrants at Central Station, 1951 from Immigrant Chronicle

Time to go and help Jack with his history assignment.


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