Time and Change

Suppose that time is not a quantity but a quality, like the luminescence of the night above the trees just when a rising moon has touched the tree line. . . In a world where time is a quality, events become recorded by the color of the sky, the tone of the boatman's call on the Aare, the feeling of happiness or fear when a person comes into a room.  -- from Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman





Flying over the Cascade Range from Eugene to San Diego, clouds form glaciers that slide into fjords in the valleys below. Shadows on the mountains tease peaks into faces. Brow ridges and noses appear in smiles or scowls. When we enter gauze that envelopes the plane in eerie light, I expect Stephen King’s tap at the window.

During these experiences, time evaporates for me. Digitals or hands that twirl in round clocks make no impact on my senses. I escape beyond its demands. Time leaves me alone as I walk through the airport and into the humid San Diego air.

Nostalgia for the autumn just ripening in Eugene toys with my senses.  When I return in November, winter’s fingers will tug at branches and scatter magenta, pumpkin and butterscotch leaves along the streets and sidewalks. The locust trees will turn into fish skeletons outside my window. Moss will comfort branches in preparation for the cold days ahead.

During October, I will search for autumn in San Diego and revel at each new color.

Creative Write: How do you deal with time or seasonal changes? or Describe your favorite season in sensory imagery.