Time is a funny thing. Our experience of Time kyronicly very rarely matches the chronic reality.

Sometimes, it seems as though we have all the Time in the world; at other times it seems like we have none at all.

Yet, we often insist, like Prufrock, to measure out our life in coffee spoons –

insisting that there isn’t enough Time or that there is too much of it;

and then we glance at the chronometer only to notice that it doesn’t say what it did before;

that Kronos has eaten yet more of his children – and they are gone.

This new year, let us “dare to follow the deception of the thrush”;

“Down the passage we did not take

towards the door we never opened.”