Time is slipping away

Mildred Higgins
Mildred Higgins

The hands on the old clock seemed to turn faster this week. As I listen to the ticking of the clock I search for something of interest to write about. The morning is slipping away.

As I sip my coffee watching steam rise and disappear I’m happy I got up early to view the Sunrise. This is a beautiful morning. I pity people that sleep and miss many beautiful sights and smells of a new dawning day. There is something special about the smell of fresh dew or to feel the fresh wash of a cool breeze on your face. It is wonderful to see the sun peaking over just starting to hit the treetop like a golden ray, beautiful to see. Or to see a morning fog clutching the ground like a blanket, as the sun rises fog will lift up around the trees like they are on fire the fog like smoke slowly rises…a beautiful sight indeed. The sad realization as I look out my window the magic of this season like the ticking of the clock this season is shooting by with lightening speed…not like when I was younger seasons seemed to last much longer.

One might say I’m in a melancholy mood this morning I can hear my grandma voice as clear as if she were in this room with me saying …”Time is wasting child, we’ve got work to do.”

Grandma was good at predicting good or bad time for planting and reading the weather patterns. Some members of the family tell me that I am just like her “on the strange side.”

Others say she used the sixth sense that we all have. I say it is common sense but not everyone uses it.

Grandma sang as she went about her daily work routine. Her favorite old hymns were, “I’ll Flay Away, In the Sweet Bye and Bye, and The Church in the Wildwood.” I followed her around like a shadow as she worked in her garden…In the spring she carefully planted seed and in the fall she hoed out the dead garden vines and plants that she harvested through the summer.

I knew to stay out of her way as she worked the soil for next year’s planting season. I can hear the sound of her hoe striking the soil it seemed to beat out a rhythm to her singing as she worked the soil.

Her favorite place to rest after all work was finished was the front porch .We sat listing to the sounds of the neighborhood as she “gathered her thoughts,” are grandma’s words.

In the distance we could hear traffic on old 25E. I wondered where the cars and people were going. I asked grandma if she ever wished to live any other place then the lane.

She studied my face for a few minutes and then she said, “I’ve never wanted to be any other place but here, and I have no desire to live in a big city where buildings are too tall and you have to dress fancy to go out to eat. This is home and I’m happy to live in a small town where everyone knows each other it is a safe place to raise a family and take care of each other. We sat quietly listing to the traffic.

Back to reality the ticking of the clock reminds me this morning is slipping away, reminding me of grandma’s words, “time is a wasting child,” get on with your day. Grandma was a wise woman and if I’m like her in any way I’m proud of it.

My thought for today, we learn who we are and whom we can become through relationships..