Time waits for no one
Between observing the heavenly bodies and hearing the ticking away of the clock, we set a watch or order that counts the seconds, minutes and hours, for what we see as day and night that in its number is the week and the month and ultimately the year.
For some the passage of time is arbitrary, yet there are cycles, the seasons, the movements of the weather, the expectation of sun, cloud and rain, we exist on earth to count our blessings. For there is birth of one and events in life, some significant, others less so, all woven into a story of existence and experience, we serve a sentence of living tethered to mother Earth until the day we are no more.
Time is for memories
We become a memory, some good deeds lost in the sand dunes weathered by winds of change and some ugly deeds etched indelibly in rocks that never age, we can only endure by those we’ve touched by love, by indifference, through our humanity or the lack of it. Memories are wells from which bitter or sweet waters are drawn to drink or flush, each reckoning journaled for eternity – the passing of time from infinity to infinity, we harbouring a section in that unfathomable spectrum.
In the counting of the years are matters of import, of holidays and anniversaries, of remembrance and ceremony, the dates and days carry different meanings and symbolisms, age is not just a number that changes as we slumber.
On this day, just eight years ago, I posted my first tweet on Twitter.
I am now a twit on twitter ...— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ (@forakin) February 8, 2009
Time is for reflection
On this day, a year after that, I buried a dear friend whose 58th birthday would have been two days later. It was very sad and he is fondly remembered.
On the same day, the service was in a church on a freezing February morning, well attended by many from far and near, it was a worthy sending off because Dick was a man of many talents and influences and he drew people from all countries, cultures, and walks of life. We exited the chapel after his remains to the world music of a Senegalese performer, he probably would have wanted us to dance.
Blog - Seeing Dick Off
Time is for remembrance
After the service, I could not wait to witness his committal to earth, for in the early afternoon, I had an appointment for what was my 7th chemotherapy session.
I got to the hospital and for all we tried, having come in from the cold, they could not find a vein to pump in the poison that killed the cancer and spared my life.
When they finally did, I sat through 45 minutes of it and though 8 sessions were scheduled and a 9th was being planned, that session of chemotherapy became my last and the beginning of my life after cancer.
Blog - Almost in vain for a vein
And so, that makes the Eighth day of February, a day of blessing and stories, did I say that 26 years ago, today gave us the first day of significantly heavy snow in London? How do I remember these things? I’m a man of the times that pass and the memories that stick. [Weather 1991]