I am a mother, a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, a cousin, a friend.
I am a therapist, a neighbour, an artist.
I am so many things in this life time, so many things I’ve been.
What is yet to come ?
A writer, a homeowner, a lover, a grandmother, a teacher of life, an elder, a corpse.
Oh what a privilege if it were to be all, to live a life within the hours of the universe for a long while.
It sometimes feels as if the hours move fast yet some move so slow.
I savour some like a warm summers days,
others I push through like treacle, finding it hard to wash them free.
I persist to attach meaning and emotions to the hours, but never the hours to me.
Its our subjective meaning we place onto the hours, the objects and identities we have around and within.
The hours continue in their neutral role of time keeper, not attaching , not desiring, just simply keeping rhythm.
The hours hold no judgement, they continue to show up.
And so I try to meditate to sit within the hours for a while and see what they see.
Some moments I am fully present and they make me smile and I return to them on occasion for comfort and support, to savour their form and glory.
I pause to acknowledge the hours, consistently present in our lives,
we are temporary visitors moving alongside them for a while.
The hours keep watch and listen as they show their presence in the trees and breeze and the golden hour.