Of Time and Direction

I like to think of the face of a watch like a compass. Instead of minutes, seconds, hours, months and years ticking away, it's directions. North for awhile becomes increasingly north-east, becomes east tending always towards southeast. At south you are halfway there, but you feel like you are at the bottom, and north seems so far away, and so much better. Falling from North to South was easy, but from down here you realize how long it's going to take to reach north again, how hard it's going to be, fighting gravity all the way up again. But the seconds tick on, the minutes go by and, driven by some unseen force you head on. South becomes southwest, becomes west. North is in sight again. Eventually you make it back to North, and you realize that this is not your destination, but only where you started. The hour hand, the minute hand, the second hand all dance in an endless, perfect waltz around the poles, trying to find their way. Punctually, they meet, at destined times and places, and cross paths, over and over again. Sometimes, its love. Others, friendship. Many times a distinct moment determining a crossing of paths uneventful, but necessary to move ahead. I like to think of the face of a watch like a compass. I'd like for it to tell me, not how long it has been since when, or how long is left, but only where there is to go. And there is only one way to go. Onward in time.