Clock

She always thought of time as that of a thief in the night. As she lays sleeping it will silently and quickly take minutes, hours, days, months and years from her already long life. She wakes in the morning feeling as though she has lost something, misplaced during the moments of tiredness before she lays down to sleep. It will come to her, certainly, and she will find that which is lost is still within her reach. But the worrisome object of her concern does not appear.

She goes about her day watching the telltale signs that she is late for an appointment. Perhaps the sun is too high in the sky now, there are far too many people already busy about their day. The air once coolish, settling on her skin and the tiny drops of moisture from the marine layer of air, has warmed urging her to shed her hoody to expose her arms to the sun’s rays. She parks her car as quickly as a full parking lot will allow her and approaches the seven story building. After traversing the steps she enters the door and takes the elevator up. But, no, she is on time for the ritualistic drawing of blood to tell her that her blood in neither too thick nor too thin. A small price to pay for her gift of life orchestrated by a synthetic valve within her chest.

constant ticking clock
radiant sound
within a beating heart

She walks into the afternoon sun and views her surroundings. She is always surprised and amazed she is still here to view the horizon as though she is seeing it for the first time and is only now stepping into her life.