July 15, 2010

Summer Mornings

There are a hundred different ways I could measure time. I am surrounded by them- I could think in spaces of past, present future (waking up this morning, what I am doing now, what I will be doing this afternoon or next week), in exact increments (the clock on my computer that reads 12:01 PM), in anticipations (the oven timer that tells me I have to wait :09 until my tart cakes are finished, the countdown until next month's trip to the Sierra's), and in momentary sounds (the voices on the Fleet Foxes CD as it runs through its tracks, the whisk whisk of the ceiling fan as it spins onward).

However, I'd rather not think of time at all. I'd love to sit here, at the kitchen table, with the sun lightly warming my back, a cup of tea next to me, the aroma of the cake filling the room, the sound of beautiful music and laughing siblings filling up the spaces in my mind, and not have to believe that there is a past or future- only a now. This ridiculously never ending space of minutes (or is it seconds? Hours? Days?) that is caught in a net of infinity. We don't need to fight, we don't need to leave our spheres of happiness, we merely need the sun, the cake, the tea, the music, the laughter, to make it all seem perfect.

But time, as they say, marches ever onward. The timer now reads :34 seconds, the clock 12:11 PM. There was a past, there is a future. The CD will end, the fan stop working, the cake be eaten. Summer will end, school begin- we will (thankfully) have to start using our brains for the higher purpose of understanding English and arithmetic, and (foolishly) believe that we need more than simplicity to be truly happy.

But in the few minutes that I believe time doesn't exist I believe in a million other more beautiful things, and although I will wake from my daze and rescue a cake from the oven before it burns, I would rather have the memory of a midsummer's morning and beautiful things than no time at all.

Besides- it's these beautiful moments that make up time in the first place.

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