timing that flawed
Sunday afternoons, awash in nostalgia. Dusty sunbeams, suspended in that eternity between the long shadows, hang still for an extra heartbeat and then plummet into the hourglass's maw.
There's a brief flash of something approaching panic with the closing of another day. Once it was simply restlessness, the dissatisfaction of the unfulfilled list. Now it's starting to feel like a reckoning of days left.
It's why I have never been able to nap, I suspect. The abrupt shift in timespace, the jetlag of lost hours. There's no harnessing the pendulum's unsettling swing.
Labels: Sunday musing Sunday