Friday, July 31, 2015

The Clapper in Donne's Bell

This time a month from now we’ll be gearing up for the Labor Day holiday, the last hurried and harried hurrah of summer 2015. Today is already the last day of July. Except…. 

I’m not really done yet with this month or with this season. Hell, I’m not done with anything now. Less than five months ago the Winter of 2015 very nearly killed me and now I’m supposed to start to practice braking and stopping at a safe distance behind the flashing lights on those little yellow metal boxes on wheels taking your kids to school? 

I think not. Screw the calendar (today is the 212th day of 2015; only 153 left to go. Yippee!) and those indicators of the changing seasons we see around us. Not interested in the diminishing daylight earlier in the evenings and later in the mornings. I just step on the leaves that have fallen off the trees; if I had Elmer’s I’d try to glue them back on.

And as for me, the birds are welcome to stay as long as they’d like; just don’t squat on the tree limbs overhanging my car.

We are, as near as I know, the only species that cuts a day into ever smaller increments and then torture ourselves with some, part, or all of them. Cannot claim to have ever seen a rabbit with a pocket watch (Alice, stay seated) and I don’t imagine starlings are all that concerned about nanoseconds.

And yet despite all of our cunning and derring-do with watches, hourglasses, clocks, and calendars, time gets away from us faster than we can possibly gather it and hold it fast. That sound, right there, that one. All the promises we made to ourselves and one another for all the deeds we’d do when we had the time. Now dashed and destroyed. Damn you, John Donne!
-bill kenny

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