Thursday, April 26, 2007

Time collecting on the floor.

I just like this:

The house kept it's own time, like the old-fashioned grandfather clock in the living room. People who happened by raised the weights, and as long as the weights were wound, the clock continued ticking away. But with people gone and the weights unattended, whole chunks of time were left to collect in deposits of faded life on the floor.
--[pg. 284, Wild Sheep Chase]


There's something very wistful about that paragraph. Stale and still time. Lost. Forgotten. Covered in dust. Time stood still there, waiting to restart, waiting for someone blow over the deposits and refresh it, give it another chance to join the world.

I like that.

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