And I am melting like some iceberg off the north pole, or perhaps a witch in the land of Oz. Everything around me is yielding to the pressure of this relentless, almost silent creature who devours seconds, minutes, hours and days, a creature who leaves its mark on the gnarly old oak tree outside my window the roof of my eleven year old car, the lines on my face.
There is no garage, or cage, or suit of armor that is strong enough to stand between me and Time. Like acid, or wind, hail, or fire, it devours everything in its path, but unlike those other things, it also builds receptacles filled with memories and thoughts.
The by product of Time may be wisdom. At least it can be wisdom.
Youth is a beautiful thing, but it is not everything. When I look at some of Time's most exquisite creations I see unimaginable sweetness in the wisdom of those faded eyes, soft strength in that white or silvery hair, comfort in those gnarled and wrinkled hands.
Our universe is an art gallery of immense diversity, a zoo of incredible species, a diorama of infinite proportions.
Each one a corroboration between Time and its project.
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