I’m thinking about time. A subject about which I am very dubious.
I’m not sure I really believe in it.
But earthly time, as measured in hours and days and weeks, does have its practical impacts.
I now have a date for the removal of the pot – or cast, or whatever you like to call it – from my right (writing) arm. November 30th: an earthly day that cannot come too soon.
Thus, whether or not I believe in it, time seems to be relative.
A theory supported by the evidence in this picture, taken at one of my favourite places, Jodrell Bank. Where it’s either time – or not time – for a nice cup of tea and a sit down. A chance to ponder the meaning of signals from outer space – and the probable dearth of leaf tea in a black hole.
Some final words now – if it is now as you read this – on time past, present and future, taken from the Four Quartets. Because TS Eliot describes how I feel (fleetingly) about time better than I ever could.
For this I forgive him for measuring out life with coffee spoons (The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock), when it should, plainly, have been teaspoons.
And he was, after all, born American.