Time is a shadow<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Time is a shadow.<\/p>\n
It has no beginning and no end, but it is brief.<\/p>\n
I can smell its beginning in the fragrance of lilacs. I hear it aging as the grass is mown. I feel time\u2019s exhaustion in camp fires. It\u2019s biting cold stings my cheeks. And I taste the tears of loss when time is up.<\/p>\n
Time has no hands but I feel its pressure when it touches my heart with its fiery fingers.<\/p>\n
When Grandpa Lundy climbed the East Lake Fire Tower\u2014<\/p>\n
A tall periscope of protection rising above the loblolly pines,<\/p>\n
He measured time in the acres lost to forest fires.<\/p>\n
No, that\u2019s not right. He measured time by Sundays, his day of rest.<\/p>\n
He would gather his family together on that day, and for a while, time would stand still.<\/p>\n
Urgencies released their grasp.<\/p>\n
He had time to play his banjo and sometimes have a hoot-n-nanny.<\/p>\n
He believed moon shine was the devil\u2019s doin\u2019 and pert near believed it was what the serpent used to entice Eve to eat the fruit.<\/p>\n
From his perch, he could only see tree tops, not the ground. Forests so dense, shadows and night walked hand in hand.<\/p>\n
With his binoculars, Papa Lundy could see to the ends of the state, maybe the ends of the country.<\/p>\n
When he was back on the ground, Papa said, \u201cNow, Cindy, don\u2019t you go playing near the garden. That\u2019s our winter food. Youngin\u2019s don\u2019t see tomorrow, but I do. We will need them pole beans come winter. Go play by the back porch.\u201d<\/p>\n
Papa would shake his finger at me, and I would head to the back porch.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis winter, we are going to have plenty of beans and collards. Can never have too many.\u201d<\/p>\n
From the\u00a0 back porch, I would look up at the fire tower and see the sky shaking its finger at me and whispering, \u201cTempus Fugit.\u201d<\/p>\n
And the shadows would grow longer and longer.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Cindy Herndon<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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