Wednesday, March 5, 2025. 40*
Warmth greeted as I opened the door, all solar lights still beaming. The dogs went to sleep on the sofa. I went to bed, fell into a dream of singing, of color, of light, of unrestrained being like flight that’s all I brought with me when I rushed through layers of darkness where Zsolt’s bark had found me.
The artistic clock hangs on a wall beside the kitchen, outside my bedroom door, on a wall facing the living room. I miss the soothing motion of the pendulum stilled before Christmas. There never was a sound of swinging, no tick tock tick, no chimes on the hour or half, only a continuous motion that called attention to itself. The pendulum needs a new battery to make it swing again; it’s on my list to replace. The unprotected hands of the large face are fragile I don’t want to bend them. The clock must be laid on its face to replace batteries. The pendulum is not essential for keeping time, there are no keys for winding, no spiral spring to store energy, no gears to turn. In motion it is mesmerizing, soothing, it realigns my mind. Yesterday as I looked at the clock, the pendulum began swinging -- it has not stopped.
And they all continued in amazement
and great perplexity, saying to one another,
“What does this mean?”
Acts 2:12
Photo: LJ Austin
