It amazes me, as I get older, that time seems to shorten. I remember days that stretched on for an age, months that lasted for ever. Those long, hot, endless summers of youth, 6 weeks holiday seeming like half a lifetime.
Now, April is drawing to a close. 6 months from Samhain, 6 months since the world settled down to sleep for the winter. Half a year has flown by and I’ve nested and slept along with it.
Time has caught me by surprise this year, with the mild winter it seems that the days have sneaked on by, with no emphatic change of season to mark them. Suddenly, the world has awoken again, lifted its head from slumber. The energy has stirred, breathing life into the plants, singing light into the air.
I feel a shift alongside the earth. Having slept when the season slowed, I now feel a shoot of something at the edge of my being. A seed, planted and starting to grow. A lifting of spirit, an opening of an eye to let in some hint of change. A desire to move. A desire to transform.
They say time flies when we’re having fun. But what we don’t vocalise is that time flies no matter what. We can spend it curled up in stasis, immovable, dreamland. Or we can spring forward with the seconds and minutes, with the days and months, and change and grow and transform just as the seasons do, just as the months do, that lead into years and decades.
So the days continue to fly by, speed increasing as I count my years. I want to tally life not as a measure of that time, ticked off towards an end, but as a measure of joy, of how much I’ve managed to fit in to each precious second, of experience and change.
I watch from the sidelines as time flies by. Then I begin to walk. Then I jog, then run, then sprint alongside and I grab out with my hands to embrace that time, and I begin to flow right along with it, inside it, ever forwards.
And together we tick on.