Iron Pinecones

 

I have always been impressed by the tiny and intricate workings of a clock or watch.  Little mechanisms functioning with such precision, keeping track of every event on the planet.

The smallest of gears twitching, as if they had some affliction, yet keeping time with the earth’s rotation and stating exactly when a runner crosses the finish line.  Predicting with great accuracy when a plane will arrive at the gate or a ship pull into the dock.

I envision old men hunched over workbenches, using even smaller tools, assembling the pieces, insuring cleanliness, always focused on the task at hand, while time itself pulls at their chain.