Time had escaped. I had done everything possible to keep it on a short leash, but the second my back was turned it had bolted out a door I had left carelessly ajar. At first, I was not perturbed. Time had always come back, the proverbial dog at the door, begging to be let back in. Days turned into a week; weeks turned into months and still I didn’t worry. Eventually (and it was hard to tell how long had actually passed), it dawned on me: Time had still not returned. And so, I sprung into action. At first, I tried to look for it, digging under mounds of snow, peering under bridges and in trees and, in one instance, finding a nest of squirrels that were not too fond of someone disturbing their home.
I escalated the search by posting flyers, "Missing Time, if found, please call" etc. etc. For some reason, this only confounded the neighbours and I was forced to remove them. It even occurred to me to set a trap for Time. Being no Wyle E. Coyote, I did not have access to the latest in Acme equipment; however, I did manage to acquire a box, string, stick and a Snickers bar (it is a known fact that Time feeds only on itself, a cycle that makes it the easiest of charges. A littler known fact is that it also enjoys Snickers). I waited for hours, hiding myself behind snow forts, left behind by a mysterious benefactor or possibly the neighbourhood children, and yet I still did not snag wayward Time.
I was getting frustrated. Having no success in locating missing Time, I attempted to create (or in this case recreate) Time, but the science was lost to me, like trying to ice skate in running shoes—you might stay upright, but it is impossible to get any traction. So here I sit, abandoned by Time, yet hopeful that if I just not stare at the door, Time will come bounding in, with energy to spare and I can finally get back to spending some moments writing with Time warming my feet.
I think I hear a scratching from outside...
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
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