Time is soundless and a tick-tock isn’t a greeting, because time is not your friend.
For all of our technology and digital wizardry, we haven’t figured out a way to stop it or to slow time down. So, we’ve injected a sound, the tick-tock of a clock, like odorizing natural gas, so it’s traceable and we can acknowledge its passing.
Clock makers have long mastered the art of gears, carving hand shafts that mesh with trains of wheels to power movements. They’ve calibrated scales and weights to moon dials, to sync calendar years and create a lovely world stage to visualize time; for our appreciation.
We’ve watched the movements, the unfaltering mechanics of a sun dial– a grandfather clock, Big Ben—and they always do precisely the same thing, track the passage of time. And even when the device fails, it isn’t because time has stopped.
So, we have to acknowledge those marks on a face– hash marks, numbers, roman numerals– and wrinkles of the skin, they count. They tell the story of life, that a second has become part of a minute and that minute part of an hour, which all together add up to a day. The accumulation of time’s parts become years, and onward until time is measured in decades and centuries. Never ending…
Technology can’t alter time, but it can keep us part of it, making us fashionable. Miniature clocks made into wearables for dainty wrists and nimble fingers; fancy watches hung around our necks, or worn on our chests, like medals.
I think about these things now, because I’ve grown older. But I’m not my mother’s grandmother and I won’t wear my hair in a bun on top of my head like a pincushion and rock my way towards some biological clock, as if death were a milestone!
I stopped wearing a watch. Time Management 101.