Maybe in the middle of a difficult night the hourly bell dispelled my fears like a smooth, tinctured breeze of unsaid things traveling easily throughout the house. How I miss being able to tell this type of time by sound. Today it’s like seeing red, the lit lines on my digital.
Saturday, August 30, 2014
Childhood #3
Perhaps a steady, rhythmic ticking first informed me of my whereabouts. I can still hear my father winding the chime whose weights had slipped down as far as they were allowed to drop as wooden hands with fine fingertips pointed to worn numbers on the face of the future circling around us.
Maybe in the middle of a difficult night the hourly bell dispelled my fears like a smooth, tinctured breeze of unsaid things traveling easily throughout the house. How I miss being able to tell this type of time by sound. Today it’s like seeing red, the lit lines on my digital.
Maybe in the middle of a difficult night the hourly bell dispelled my fears like a smooth, tinctured breeze of unsaid things traveling easily throughout the house. How I miss being able to tell this type of time by sound. Today it’s like seeing red, the lit lines on my digital.
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