My watch of twelve years ran out of ticks We left it in the garage window hoping the sun would revive its solar heart and there it stayed face to face with time royalty unmoved. I have meant to buy another but these days watches are jewellery or else Bond-like devices that answer seven purposes on one tiny screen: either way, an extravagance in my opinion. A year later, and I paddle through days conscious only vaguely of the precision instrument the sharply pointed hands of human time keeping. Illness has given me that luxury; that simple drift like shadows around their plants only occasionally alarmed into consciousness by my phone or just a sudden curiosity. But still, I miss my watch. Perhaps I’ll get one for Christmas.
What do you do with time? Chase it? Kill it? Make it? Herd it into nifty little slots with asterisks and bullets?
Let that be your prompt today: Write about dealing with Time.