I was going to ask you a question, but judging from the long hand of the clock, which is right of the dot, I think it is way too early.
Waiting for it to tick-tock all the way to the better side takes a while, but that is to be expected. After all, we are dealing with time, but mostly you. And you are unique.
I noticed the shorthand barely moves. I am glad that that is not the hand that rocks the cradle or stirs the lemonade. I hope you like lemonade made from dark sugar. No Cool Aid or Flavor Aid for me. My lemonade is authentic even without lime. The shorthand seems to be brooding. Perhaps it’s being deliberately contemplating of your industrious schedule and is a sentry in disguise.
The other hand- strange to have three hands and not be seen as a freak of nature- is galloping to the tick-tock as if it is an infraction to linger too long in any one spot. I can’t tell if it prefers one spot to another. I suspect if I asked the question on the tip of my tongue or wait for it to nervously hop to the next line, it would be the right time. It is mindful that I am unscheduled for my impromptu audience with you.
I could wonder aloud if it is a freak- third hand nervous up the hill and down- but it could point out that I am the one with the question. It knows what time it is, and more importantly, if or when to alarm my presence. It cannot be ignored. I am being optioned to be optimistic. Time can be coy even as it is demonstrably unambiguous about its preponderances. It doesn’t need dark sugar for its lemonade.
Settling to wait for the long hand, I stir my lemonade. It is not turboed by granulated sugar. Ants do not take kindly to being misled by granulated sugar in the lemonade. They fall headlong in that mystery. That’s a mess without any upside and yet, who hasn’t seen or been sympathetic to a friend who has had to resort to spooning ants out of his granulated limeless lemonade? Sigh!
It is not a prerequisite to life.
“The spoon?”
“No! The damn ants!”
“Shouldn’t we be able to choose and use any damn sugar, wet or dry to make our lemonade with a generous serving of lime if we want?”
“That’s what I am talking about. It’s about time!”
Where did the train leave the track? The long hand ain’t quite up to the top, but it is about time. Anytime there is a train wreck or derailment it’s about time and schedules, and people screwing up and having the blasted nerve to tell you and me to wait and be patient. Rome wasn’t built in a day.
Dang! I ain’t been to Rome. They have. I helped to pay for their all-expense, cell phone roaming trip to Rome and Timbuktu. And I must spoon ants out of my lemonade. And now you are telling me to wait. Are you going to be surprised, or face turn white with aghast when I tell you that you have to wait?
Do you see what we have become by following educated fools? What does that make us? The damn clock with three hands is not the freak. We got that with hands down. The little hand just jumped; I kid you not.
It’s about time, my friend. It’s about time. I’ll pray that you will sleep well but be disturbed when you wake up. And What?
I’m not sure.
Peter Peterkin, Readers Bureau, Fellow
Edited by Jesus Chan
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