Sweeping secondhand

 

When someone dies, we brace ourselves with our back feet and then dig like crazy with our front.  We put them in the hole and cover them up.  Now they are gone, out of sight.  There is now a vacant spot on the bench at the bus stop, and an empty desk at the office and an address deleted from an address book.

Someone else will end up with the next lotto ticket that gets spit out of the machine, just as someone else will sit at that empty desk.  Friends and relatives will carry their memories for a time, until even those find their way into the hole.

It is time sweeping us and all our bits into the ground.  A silent, ever-moving second hand that drags along with it, gray hair, hearing loss and nudges us each time it passes, a little closer to the hole.  That is why I believe the digital clock should be your timepiece of choice.

You see what happened there?  I headed down a path and then my left front tire blew.  Suddenly, I’m off into the weeds, getting bounced and jostled about.  I’m just going to get out here and walk home.  Just ignore that digital clock nonsense.