The older I get, the younger my parents get.
The 30-year olds of my early youth (
the stoic, wisened, yet increasingly out of touch and out of date dinosaurs from when I was 10
) became
, some 40 years later in hindset,
naive young people who spent a lot of time
obviously just “winging it.”
And what of these evolving precepts of time?
What is time besides life itself:
that consciousness of indeterminate, yet universally uniform,
brevity.
A lifetime is forever — while never enough — yet it’s the shortest
time I’ll ever know.
And knowing, if it were possible, when the hourglass top would run
empty
, I would count days left then, and
not years past
.
I would live presently in the then knowable balance of life,
just as I should now not knowing.
Because this is it.
This is already life flashing before my eyes.