With the odd bird, scooting clouds and the moon, I have the town to myself. I walk past the large houses at our end of the street. They have stood here for two, three hundred years and their occupants are our new neighbours. In twenty years most of us won’t be here, we’re of that age and as I admired the illusion of the moon rushing through the clouds, I pondered on the illusion of time.
Help. There’s no time, our things arrive from storage in three days and the house has yet to be in a ready state. Help. I’m up before any of our neighbours, it must be the quantities of coffee we’ve been drinking to get through each day as we slog hour upon hour to get this pace fixed and painted and clean for Monday.
We assume we have lots of time, yet yesterday flitted past, though today and all its necessary tasks seems to stretch far far in to the future. How odd. And fleeting as I am and as frail as I am, what I do today will generally have an impact which future inhabitants of this world could be touched by. That plastic container, why didn’t I buy something from the refill shop two hundred metres down the high street rather than from the small supermarket seventy paces away? Laziness dressed as being pushed for time by the enormous amount of work this house has generated. No excuse.
There’s alway time to live more consciously, but laziness gets in the way. It takes effort to change one’s habits and the mind prefers an easy ride. I take a deep breath, enjoying the flow of oxygen and, though I am never well, face this my strange reality. Today, rushed and pressed as we both are, will be as efficient as it has to be but will also filled with moments of attention.
Awareness of just how precious these hours we have really are. They are not to be squandered but to be treasured, for sooner than we imagine we won’t be here to appreciate them. Life is to be lived, to be relished, to be respected and our footprints must be light so that future generations can enjoy it as much as I am right now.