When I first wrote this there were no breaks, to get into the writing mode I went back and broke it up to have it read easier. First time I have read it since I wrote it and I really like it, I think I will just continue to write this. . . Time Was Not the Thief The son of the watchmaker sat there and watched the clockwork of his father and wondered, Why hasnt he have time for me? He couldnt stand sitting and waiting to become a gear and have his turn. I got to go. I have to run. I have to use my legs, hands, and fingers to take me somewhere other than here in my fathers clocktower! Into the fields he ran and found work to keep him busy lifting and laying heavy things becoming a hard man much too soon. The jobs were there for him other activities too. He swung the bat both ways, well too. Threw the football and when it needed kicking, between the uprights through. He biked out east to Boston with a friend, what a trip. Drove through the Rockies during a blizzard towing one truck with another after a hard job was done only for a harder return journey home. He made it through much with only more to come because that is what a hard working man gets, more hard work. The battle cry of a man like this is the panting of exhaustion from a full days exhertion which he hardly ever failed to have even on his days for himself he always set to working towards some end his eyes had set his mind on achieving. His gears worked just as fluid as the odd cogs spinning large cogs twisting that and pulling this all towards the collective end of the mind of the maker, the mind of the watchmaker on telling time and producing things geared towards this end and the mind of the son on whatever occupied his mind, forgetting what wasnt needed at the moment sailing to points far on the horizon that his eyes chose as goals the mind always working towards no matter how far, always achieving too, from lack of doubt of what is possible. Doubt stops many great things and the son of the watchmaker didnt let the demon doubt stop him. The artists brush he did in both hands wield and unveiled with it what wonders his eyes beheld. He saw the beauty in the world not in the screen of the television or the papers or magazines but in the ditches were some wild flowers sprouted near puddles with a splash of purple here and some yellow and red there. He was pulled out to see what others couldnt through the magnetic force of beauty that he understood and saw in the little things. Peaceful when eyes were open for the most part he set out on his journey being pulled by the eyesight of beauty leaving his small town behind him to learn at the University. There he learned the opinions of a lot of teachers and little of the subjects they were to lead his learning in. Most of what he got was once again given to him by himself. He was given more than the others this way, so he did benefit from going and he never thought otherwise. Knowing the same thing would probably happen he still urged his own son to go when he was at the age needing intellectual engagement but he let him know of the witchdoctors and their chants. Son the Witchdoctors get their power from the belief of their followers. If you dont believe them they wont have power over you. Dont seek them to believe them. Seek them to understand them. He told that to his son after he took him to see the Monarchs return to the Tree of Dreams of his youth. Confident that his son had found his path to many dreams he set out to tackle the thing that had bothered him most of his life, Time. He didnt believe in it. He held it in such disdain from the time he was haunted by the ticking and the tocking from the clocks on the wall, from all the clicking and clacking of the watchmaker using his tools peering through many glasses of magnification. He sometime thought that was the only way to see the meaning behind time, through those many glasses of magnification that he peered through when the watchmaker was absent trying to figure it out, he never did. Having made it through the majority of his life waiving the requirements to wear the constraints of time and forced brevity of enjoyment that time caused, he left it by going north to a cabin a few miles from the Great Lakes on the Canadian Side as he had as a child on some family trips. He enjoyed much of the time he had here but now he came here to seek seclusion and find the answer to his question that lacked words. The cabin sat clothed in the dark green of trees that bore their needles all year. It was left alone from people and their dealing so he dealt with his there in privacy not wanting for anything other than his answer. He shed all thoughts of time and what it meant to him before, the hate it carried. He thought on it and day after day he did his rituals. He rose before the sun and had the fire going and coffee brewing. He made his rounds to all the windows and pulled the blinds and opened the curtains letting in the flood of bright white light. After the rounds the coffee would always just have finished and he would get his favorite mug from the cupboard and get it prepared and he would take his seat in the burgundy wing-back chair set slightly askew from the fire place allowing it to also have a view of the patio and the rising sun. As soon as the sun passed over the patios roof and the sun no longer shone on the son of the watchmaker he got up for his second cup of coffee and took this one outside to chase the sun and do some more of his daily rituals. He would walk out around the back and get the axe and he would take it around the side near the log pile not rushing to get there but taking his time to breathe in the fresh air and see the dew drying from flowers that were in the shade not long before now in full blast of the suns warm rays drying them and he notices the flowers reach up and stretch feeling the warmth of the sun on their pink petals. He feels that rejuvenating stretch and warmth pass through him too having greeted the sun earlier than the flowers on the side of the house. While chopping that night and next mornings firewood he thought on the flowers and he mused this idea, I should strive to live like the flowers. I should only take on as much water as I need for now and let the rest sit on my petals and have the sun take it from me in trade from its warmth and guiding light. He decided that the flowers were able to achieve this simple beauty they exude by not hording and wasting energy not needed in storing what it couldnt consume at the moment. It used that energy instead in being colorful and containing a pleasing scent for those to that pass by to stop and smell.
Posted on: Tue, 19 Nov 2013 05:32:00 +0000
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