Hours away from 2018. Time surges. The accelerant of our lives. Time. The hidden force running faster and more elusive than each year to come before. Our grammar school time but a distant memory. A patina etch from the halcyon days where the conquest of the calendar year stood more daunting than Odysseus’ long voyage home. The annual primary school quest that needed parceling into such small chunks that still made weeks feel a feat of strength. A month felt an accomplishment worthy of new construction paper cutouts to mark out each day on the classroom calendar. The marking period quarter pole left us grizzled vets of the mathematics wars. But by year’s end, learned and wizened, came the triumphant return of vacation. The final march off the bus sounding the horn of endless summer. It was over two magical months the youthful burden of time paid off. Endless weeks spanned on forever to our heart’s content. But now when years pass as eye blinks is is our deepening wrinkles and our tired bodies signal the passage of time. Replacing construction paper cutouts with stress, fear and anxiety. W look no farther than our own aging as the clear marker in the unstoppable acceleration of time.
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