whittling away at a
piece of wood,
that's how the seconds and
minutes of today ran away with me.
I felt at times I was standing watching
the sand run through an hour glass.
With meteoric speed.
Work,
then errands,
home,
tea,
work.
How can we find time to squeeze
the words of the day
into a few paragraphs here?
I took off my reading glasses and laid them on
my book, and looked out at the
promise of spring.
Thought back over the day now almost gone.
Sands
of
time
