TIME

Time and space mean very little to me today. I am sitting here thinking of ten years ago and marvelling because it seems so close and so little forgotten,—infinitely nearer than those moments of even yesterday, which seem already remote and distant. How strange time is! Do you know I often fancy that old Father Time holds in his hand some musical instrument? Maybe a harp or a lyre—instead of a scythe as he is always depicted—and he plays and plays and plays ... mostly very low; and then things that occurred only yesterday seem vague, almost forgotten and far away. But sometimes he sees our hearts craving to recall vividly some face, to live over again some moment, or to hear once more an almost forgotten echo—and then he takes compassion upon us and he plays madly and loudly, and suddenly, as though in a vision, we witness departed moments; or we see a face or hear a voice close beside us, and so real are they, that we have but to stretch out our hands to touch and caress them, or turn our heads to hear the cadence of a voice rise from out the long-dead past. Have you noticed how vividly old people recall their childhood? Ah, that is because Father Time, being so old himself, has a profound attraction for old age, based on reciprocal qualities which he knows them to share in common with him. So of course he loves them best and, realizing that he has no earthly future to offer them, he draws down his musical instrument and plays louder and louder—and lo! they can sit for hours at a time, slowly rocking backward and forward, and all the while they are living over again some cherished moment and hearing sweet, enchanted music. And, if you listen closely during the silent intervals between the squeaking and rocking of their chairs, I am sure you will hear them saying softly to themselves as they nod their heads slowly to and fro— “Why, it all seems only yesterday!”