Returning to Albany from Washington, we were near the midnight hour when we reached this vantage point of our fair city. It’s a helpful shift in perspective to see such familiar places in such wildly-altered fashion, taking one out of the routine paths and patterns, forcing a new view that places one in a new mindset. It’s usually a reminder of how small we are – not only us but our villages and towns and cities. What vast expanses of darkness with such little pools and islands of light.
Time is like that too. An hour- a single hour – may feel like an eternity. All of the world, and quite a bit more, can fit into an hour, and at the same time all of one’s love could never occupy enough of a century to satisfy. I think of how time bends when we’re given an extra hour like we were early this morning. All of the things that might be accomplished in an hour. And all that might not. Which hour will we take? It seems like such a shame if we have to take it when it arrives – I’m not up at 2 AM as a general rule. I prefer to hold onto it for a bit, savor the moment when we might make the most of it. Or maybe time doesn’t work that way. It feels so malleable one second, so impossibly rigid the next. It’s a tricky construct, and the mind can become boggled and fraught with consternation if one dwells too long or dives too deep. It would perhaps be wiser to keep things light and sparkling, like the little illuminated bits that wink from high above downtown Albany. There’s magic everywhere.
