Time is a funny thing. A year ago I remember urging time to go faster. I felt like an insolent child, running around their exhausted parent, pulling their arms forward, then running behind them to push them along. I remember not seeing days or events, just an endless length of warm days that seemed to stretch into forever. I would stare at the beautiful maple outside my bedroom window and will its leaves to yellow at the edges. I would stand, with my eyes closed and beg a brisk fall breeze to dance on my skin. When I woke up, it was in relief that another day had passed and in despair that so many loomed ahead. Time crept ahead slowly, stubbornly. As if it begrudged being rushed. As though it preferred to amble and resented my haste.
One year later I beg time to slow down. Each day seems shorter than the previous and my mind panics at the thought of time slipping through my fingers like a bathroom faucet turned on too high. What feels like minutes in the garden is really hours. My children, who should still be infants, grow bigger each day and I fear if I blink, they will have children of their own. I am at farmers market for what feels like a moment and the whole day is gone. I laugh with my friends until the wee hours of the morning and I am in the kitchen canning my precious harvests until the sun rises and I am wondering why I have to go to bed again so soon. The days seem too short to get as dirty as I want, fall deeply into a novel, cook a lovely meal for my friends and family, write a paper for class, kiss my husband again and again, finish the bottle wine, laugh one more time.
Slow down, sweet time. Give me one more minute of the sun dipping into the horizon. One more minute of watching my baby’s eyelashes twitch in dreamland and to smell his sweet baby breath, slow and steady. I need just one more minute of giggles with my son, as we squish our faces against the window at each other while I water our herbs. One more minute of midnight whispers with my husband, my lover, my heart. Slow down, time and let the city breeze wash over me a little bit longer as I reminisce with old friends and laugh with new ones.
Slow down, my dear friend. Enjoy this sweet time with me. Do not be a rushing river, taking memories like loose, prickly brambles on the riverbank. Instead, be like the sweet peach bitten into, its juices ambling slowly over my palm, running indiscriminately, making little paths down my arm. Slow down with me and soak this in, dear time. I don’t want to miss this.