When the watchmaker’s eyes began to fail, he knew time was short. He had been around so much gold all his life. He, himself, now silver. He, now tarnished gray. He never thought a day would come outside his workshop—never a minute without his staking set. Pin vises. Stumps. Jeweling anvils. And yet—his blur amidst the whir of the inner workings of time itself. He went to the ocean one day. Stood knee-deep in hope of some silence. The tide rose. He knew, of course, that the moon keeps time, too. That the waters rise to heaven’s besotted age.
Absolutely adored it and learned about watch making – fab!
Wasn’t that just beautiful?!
A wondrous prose poem! looking at time, standing in time, trying not to hear time… Your imagery is, in fact, timeless. Thank you for this!
Lovely!
loved the imagery!
Old watchmakers and old watches must eventually slow down then fall prey to the Tides of Time. Very observant story…wonderful imagery. Thanks for sharing this. It’s a Winner.
I really enjoyed this lyrical piece. Well worth the “time.”
Beautiful imagery, I really enjoyed this.