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Looking out my Backdoor: When the clock of time slithers down the wall


Last updated 9/9/2021 at 10:44am

Some days, I feel like I’m living in Dali’s famous painting with timepieces slumped and limp and empty.

Except with differences. My “painting” would have the clock hands clutching at the wall in futile attempt to stay put. “What do you mean, we are well into September? August began yesterday, don’t you know?”

What do I have to show for a month gone by? I mean, I haven’t accomplished anything. We are supposed to, aren’t we? We are told that, aren’t we? In my self-imposed life of solitude and simplicity, I’ve done nothing of note.

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