Hope Orchestrated

On my long, curved, clay-colored, couch, I watch a golden shadow with blotches of darkness go over and across where my legs would be if I was sitting there in the shade from the sun. Like a mesmerizing strobe light it insists I watch.

I hear the steady tap sound of the pendulum return to its place of origin, over and over. The shadow mimics the clock’s rhythm with a dance on my couch.

I turn and stare up at the clock mechanism four feet above the floor, encased in a deep red, wood frame with windows up and down on all sides.

“Now I’m here, now I’m there.” If I listen hard enough I can hear the violins rise to accompany. Sweet, soft and entranced. It stays in rhythm but in butterfly-wing-chants of sound.

The score of time. Constant motion. As the shadows slowly fade on my couch, so does each minute of time. Grandfather Clock continues its movement of song.

I turn now toward my apartment window. The sun no longer blinds me. I notice my maroon shamrock (in the pot by the window) has drifted, following the sun.

Already, the portrait of time is being conducted from a different seat on my couch. The orange and green pillows now are being hypnotized by the reflection of the pendulum. Time doesn’t really change.

We are changed by how we are constrained by the slow pass it makes across us each day. Like a drifting cloud slowly covering our view of sun or moon.

The shadows change. The plants and animals change their behavior along with us. So what if the sun won’t wait for me to get dressed and ready for my walk! I am able to continue with my rhythm.

 I can turn with hope I can orchestrate a day for me. In my own time.