First word: Imogen Mark: Time has left me alone

 It no longer runs, ticking behind me, peering over my shoulder, tickling my ear, breathing heavily, sometimes even sighing, a catch in its throat, a sob.

What has Time to cry about? How does it live its own passing? What can it use for markers, if its own seconds, minutes, hours, days, are silent or muffled in its own intestines? Can it even exist if has no-one to worry at, to make them worry? Does Time need humans, or sentient beings to make it conscious, to exist, even?

What is Time without a watch? It could measure itself in the seasons, the changing weather, the flowers and fallings from trees. Leisurely time.

How long is eternity? the king asked the wise shepherd boy. Well, the boy answered, far, far, far away, further than you can ever imagine, is a high, high mountain, higher than you can ever imagine, and harder than you can know, harder than the hardest diamond.

And once in every ten thousand years comes a tiny hummingbird and in just one movement it sharpens its bill against the hard, brilliant surface of the high mountain, and flies away. Well, when the bird has worn down the mountain to nothing with its touch, then, when there is no more mountain, the first second of eternity will have passed.

The description of eternity is my version of the story, The Shepherd Boy, from Grimm’s Fairy Tales.   

First word: Pamela Yorston: Time has left me alone

 Does Time take us by the hand at birth and plod along next to us to the grave?  Or does she let go our hand and let us run free, to and fro, lagging behind and then catching up and running ahead?  So that at any one time we are not chronologically where you might expect.

There was a gas leak in the building, and the concierge came up to see if the problem was in our flat.

“It must be in the 701,” I said. “It’s where that elderly couple live.”  I could see hi looking at me and added quickly, “More elderly than I am, at least.”

But they’re probably not.  They are likely a good five years younger than me, nut it just doesn’t feel that way.  I watch my friends hobble around holding on to the furniture, or using a walking stick and think to myself…what’s happened to everyone? I remember my mother saying something similar, feeling so much younger than her friends. 

Three-score year and ten is all we are promised, and every year after that is a gift, when we can let go the hand of Time and take a detour, stay out after dark and wander into the woods.  Until Time crossly calls us to heel, and we obediently take her hand again and march onward.

First word: Suzanne Roberts: Time has left me alone

 Time left me alone, when I left it alone.

I leave it alone almost every day for a while when I “lose” my telephone around the house or in the pocket of a bag. And I can’t call the phone because I always forget to put the ringer on.

The kitchen clock helps me hold time at arm’s length. It’s set ahead a seemingly unknown number of minutes, and I always undercalculate them to my advantage. The clock meant to help me be early, makes me late. Still, there’s a pleasing condescension in leaving it inaccurate: a clock out of time is somewhat pathetic, a clock keeping precise time is intimidating.

Sometimes time plays with me. Washing the dishes takes seven minutes, when I expect it to take 20. Typing up my writing takes 45 minutes, when I expect it to take 10. I can drive to work in eight minutes on a Sunday, but it takes an hour and a quarter on a weekday afternoon.

Time is like a tiger breathing down my neck at the back, making it sweaty and sticky, forcing me to clench my jaw and curl my fingers.

“Leave me alone, Time,” I cry.

“Fine, if that’s what you really want,” it says. So, I alone become unaffected by it and life as I knew becomes impossible. There is no growing up, passing through stages, living with the same group of friends and lovers. Children grow old. No relationship can last longer than a few years without my turning to paranoia, suspecting they are onto me. Once again time is bothering me again, simply by not being there.

No, time won’t leave anyone alone. Anyone or anything – the wine and cheese get better until they become drastically worse.

Who can make peace with time and how do they do it?