“Time, like an ever rolling stream, bears all its sons away; they fly, forgotten, as a dream dies at the opening day.” (Isaac Watts) Days wax and wane; a life begins, develops and dies; entire civilizations thrive and decline. Time has a fractal quality about it: no matter the degree of magnification, we see the same overall shape, the same cycle of coming into existence and then going away. Hours, years, millennia… makes no difference. And we are both observers of the cycles and participants in them.
Within our life we have two homes,
Known in our minds, and in our bones.
To one who often will return.
For one our spirits ever yearn.
For one our spirits ever yearn.
An hourglass stands firmly on the mantle of a fireplace
“Sands of time” are resting quietly at the glass bottom
One breath; one breath at time,
a breath-on-breath is all we get:
and you cannot take it with you
