A Pause in Time

A Pause in Time

Since anything began, I have always been, and will always be, until the day that nothing is.

I observe everything, briefly, for a moment, a heartbeat, a blink. Then it is no more and I move on, move forward. You sometimes linger there, although I am gone, and you sometimes forge ahead, impatient, not waiting for me.

You know me. You know me well. I have been your constant companion always. But one day, I will leave you. You will run out of me. All that you do between now and then, I observe. All that is done to you between now and then, I witness. And sometimes I heal, if you wait for me.

There are many who strive to mark my passing with a tick-tock, a shift of the wrist, a brightly lit screen half seen. Yet I am always moving forward, never stopping. You sometimes seek me in a memory, sometimes in a hope. You recognise me often in things past or in things yet to pass, and you do not realise that I am not there. I am here. I am now.

Always moving forward, I can neither stop nor go back. Often, I wish I could. But Time waits for nobody.

I did not wait for those who knew and loved me well, observed me in the sky, on the land, from the sea, who watched me from grasslands, from caves, from jungles, from straw-hatted houses. I do not wait for those who are greedy for me, who want more. I can not wait for anything.

I marched onward as the world moved from fire to ice, as ancient life gave way to new, as fish walked and men stood, as old masters surrendered to me, and empires rose and fell through me. I tread softly by as blue skies give way to black, as suns set and moons rise, as violets and daffodils break a winter spell and blackbirds feast on vines. I skip by as mighty trees, humble in their nakedness awaken to forge green finery, before they blush and disrobe again. I was there when you were created, when you fell and cut your knee, when you fell and hurt your heart, as you rose and fell again and again. I am always by your side, always moving forward.

How ever much you beg, I will not pause on those balmy summer evenings when your sun-kissed laughter calls to me. I will not slow on those dark winter mornings when you long to burrow back into sleep. I will not stop in those last days of loved ones, however much you want me to. But when they have run out of me, I am there beside you, as I have always been, carrying you forward.

I am fluid. Sometimes you will recognise me in my fluidity. I may be your reflection in a high street window, the wind that carries the clever crow, the scent of summer peonies as you pause to observe. The pretty girl in summer dress, the handsome boy in winter wool, the moment of loving embrace. That is where you will find me: in the pause.

I cannot pause. I observe and pass and see without sadness or joy that you try and fail to mould me, make me, extend me, reduce me. Oh to stop and share in the joy that you want to pause, or the pain you want to pass! To feel, to be, to stop, to experience. I love you, but I cannot linger enough to hold you.

Now, I move the low sun ever closer to the horizon, push the earth towards dark repose, and extend to the trees a cloak of velvet russet in thanks for a season of plenty. I move forward through your city of stone and concrete and noise and lights of cold-green, cold-orange, cold-red. I move on, none here see me. Street lights, illuminate in recognition of my passing. A side street, a half hidden sanctuary through thickened window, mahogany and polish and the tinkle of glass, thin laughter as cheer raises the volume and I continue on my way, offering autumnal twilight in my wake.

Then I see you, paused, observing the moment of magic where light through glass rejoices in the silken violet plum of Merlot. And you see me and you understand me. And I am exquisite in your moment of quietude.

There is a date, and yet I know not what it is, for dates and days and o’clocks and the names of such things are yours and do not matter to me. I know only moments. In that moment, that part of that day, that season, that year, that lifetime, you pause, filled with me.

There is no mechanical tick tock, no shift of the wrist, no brightly lit screen half seen. You raise the deep and mellow ruby to your lips, and you caress the pause. The vibrant and deep Merlot tantalising in fragile glass, vulnerable yet secure in your large, strong, work-coursed hands. And the scent awakens your senses and the taste removes my veil and I am yours. I am your time. There is you and there is me and we are captured, held aloft in the glowing majesty of vital autumnal colour.

Finally, in your moment, I stand still.