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Home News Sport Business. We've noticed you're adblocking. I shake my head. She shivers, her scar glowing a bright pink against the dark of her skin.
She takes my hands in her hands, and puts all of our hands in her coat pockets. The tree is laid to rest in the sun, she says. And the rough outer bark is peeled away. The cinnamon is the layer underneath. Right there, under the surface; a thin delicate layer, quietly waiting to be uncovered.
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She squeezes both my hands in her pockets and smiles. I lean in to do something about it. I was lucky enough to travel all over the country and the world this year, but not lucky enough to have any control over what I saw or did. This year was a lot of big life events, defined - as all big life events end up being - by small bright moments: Winning an Emmy, but dancing with my mom and sister at the party.
Chasing my nephew around the yard. Reading a book outside on a Sunday morning. These moments are as sweet as frozen grapes from the vine. They got me through this year. When I was a kid, I had this pocket watch. It kept terrible time. But I would wind it up and press it to my ear, listening to the soft tickticktickticktickticktick for what seemed like hours. I would imagine that ticking as the gears of The Universe at work; throwing stars and planets into orbit, black holes spinning around each other out in space, life on distant worlds crawling from primordial ooze.
The soft ticking would measure out atoms and electrons smashing into each other, their explosions weaving the very fabric of reality - these epic events and more were all constructed from the all powerful Hand of Time that controlled Existence Entire from deep inside the mechanical heart of my one very own miraculous timepiece. Creation, Destruction, life being created on other planets - I had nothing to do with any of that, obviously.
I was just sitting alone in my bedroom listening to the ticking of a broken watch. But nothing in the universe mattered to me as much as that little watch did.
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But few have stuck with me more than the ticking of that watch. The cosmic wheel of time turns, causing events that are too enormous for us to even comprehend; in the grand scheme of things, a moment is meaningless. How much can even happen in a moment? A kind word from a stranger? A laugh at the family dinner table over something silly? In the long grand journey of a life, a moment is almost too small to measure.
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But what is life if not a collection of moments? I still have that watch. And I still wind it up and listen to it. And it still keeps terrible time. But why would I ever get it fixed? Then it would just be another watch.