Time, some will say, is merely a figment of our imaginations, a hallucination brought about through the perception of change in our reflexive, seeking minds. The sun comes up, the sun goes down. We call this 'day'. We divide the day with our quartz devices, eager to measure, quantify, utilize. Reducing eternity into the numbered hours.
Yet the only true time is the beating of our primate hearts, a percussion to accompany the tidal wind of our lungs.
Days pass, we toil at tasks myriad. All to keep our hears beating, our bellows blowing. Some days we call eternity by the name of 'Tuesday'. Time quickens as our hears flutter in anticipation of the coming evening. We ride, and have no thought for time. As long as we make it back in time for tacos.
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No Car I hear if a handle of brown liquid is offered a Chicken bake will be given in exchange.
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Three. Might go up early for some pre riding. And did anyone notice Spawn's super early post on the blog!?
ReplyDeleteA literary master piece PC. Yeah maybe I've finally caught up to the 21st century and figured this blog thing out
ReplyDeleteMust echo that last sentiment. Beautiful piece of writing. I wept not only at my own illusory grasp on this moment , but at the fact I would miss yet another fine evening in the forest. This too shall pass, and I will join soon!
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