As I entered the office today I came across a file I had been looking for all weekend. It sat there on my desk, old and worn, with the edge of the pages frilled and slightly browned by fire. I stood still at the doorway, my hand left hand clutching the brass door handle and my right deep within my trouser pockets, holding tight to my car keys. Looking at that old file on my desk, with the imprint of somebody’s fingers etched in a thin film of dust, I was overcome with a deep feeling of sadness.

Time passes by only once, at least for now. Maybe in the future time travel will be discovered and we will all have the ability to stop and even rewind that relentless grandfather clock, with its brass cogs and silver pendulum rocking to and fro towards infinity. Maybe we will be  allowed to clean out the red, lustreless rust and dust  accumulated within the mass of screws and springs that  make up our own individual timepieces. But until then we  should cherish the time as it passes by. Every moment savoured, every second enjoyed. Because we will not pass through this route again. The old file strangely reminds meof this, with its wrinkles and burnt page edges and fine coating of dust hiding faded writing of a distant past.

My mind drifts towards thebutterfly fluttering aimlessly against my window, an impenetrable barrier preventing it from gaining access to my potted marigold seated regally at the window’s edge. A butterfly uses its time well. Starting out as a virtually simple life form, a single cylindrical green(or yellow,or pink) caterpillar, its limbless form creeping with effort through the stems and soils of life, it morphs into a beautiful winged creature,delicate in all aspects , beauty, stature and even flight. Time changes the caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly. If only it would do the same for all of us.

 

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