… if it did, I’d make it stretch. If said fabric can stretch over large bodies at the gym it could expand a little to cover the bundles of laundry waiting to be done, the piles of neglected notebooks… reaching all the way over to the little faces around who so eagerly want to walk to the park. On the stretched edge of time, held fast and pulled back towards me, I’d sew on all the popped-off buttons, cut out the quilt patches that sit forlorn on a shelf, pen the poems which have whirled about my brain for a month and learn another language and plant these tiny packages of morning-glory seeds in front of the backyard fence.

The list grew as I thought about it; doubling unchecked its size was near impossible proportions by the time my chores were done. The business phone rang again; hurriedly I answered the client’s questions as I was able and jotted down yet another note for my man to address when he returned from his latest job. The sheer number of them seemed intimidating; unconsciously they added themselves to the list in my mind. It felt overwhelming, all the things I have not done and wished to accomplish in the short time I have upon this planet.

And yet… time was been wasted in said foray into all that is not done, in the wishing and yearning to do more than I already do. It made me feel a trifle annoyed at the depressed notions which nip at the heels of such thoughts. Irritated enough that I shook myself from the daze of feeling sorry for ineptitude in general and plunged headlong into another project, if for nothing else than to see it done. Time is made of steel, I thought. Despite its hard, un-moving surface I resolved to not let it pass me by.

A strange feeling of accomplishment made itself present not long after, settling first on my skin then sinking down further as I worked on. The house grew cleaner, gradually; the various accounting work and secretarial duties called forth and swiftly dealt with. Laundry was folded with speed and the sheer determination to have results in the steely face of time. Dinner slowly planned itself out in my head and came to fruition under my hands.

At last came the moment; I put on my shoes and the wide-brimmed hat and looked at the silent door of my children’s room.

“Anyone want to go to the park?”

It’s just one phrase and simply worded at that… but it invoked the most pleasant of reactions. Four faces appeared in the doorway, with smiles, no less; little feet thundered over the living room carpet and shoes were put on with haste. Two hands found there way into mine on one side, two in the other. Though hard won with frustrated toil, the moment felt keenly fine, like gazing at an old master’s painting of an idyllic pastoral scene. The day’s cares slide away from me like leaves shaken from one’s shoulder.

Time may not be on my side, but it has not beaten me.