We have a row of planter pots positioned along the side of the carport so the herbs in them get maximum sunlight each day.
On our way out recently, my beloved remarked, ‘Time is peppery.’
‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘it certainly is, and what a wonderful metaphor.’
The penny dropped, eventually, and thyme was the actual word, representing the herb whose homophonic alliance suggested a change in perception, at least for a blink or two.
Well, on consideration, time is peppery, after all. It must be one of the most peppery entities, concepts and actual events in existence.
Think about it: it’s all we have, really it is, and you can’t even see it, hold it, or box it up, but you can donate it, sell it, barter it, and measure it. Yippee.
On the other hand, that’s rather aggravating, and inflammatory on so many levels. Sort of grinds you down, doesn’t it? Until you realise just how Carlos Castaneda, Timothy Leary trippy it really is – in that fighting a cloud with a sword kind of way.
And time is elastic, as Einstein so craftily pointed out.
It’s so elastic that each and every one of us who breathes on this strange little world, has an entirely different experience of it from each and every one else. But we enjoy or endure a similar enough experience of time to take generally attentive notice of clocks, and solar movements, and other astral indicators so as to make it to work, play, and the next episode on time, if you will.
Peppery time: sneezy, sniffly, bitey, hot, irritating, flavoursome, and multi-coloured.
There’s no other such unit of time, either, than this very moment in which I type this letter and this letter, and this very moment as you read this word. But it’s hard not to stay with the old continuum – remembering the past, imagining the future, and avoiding the present even as we wish we could do so much more with it, pesky little thing.
Which reminds me: I’m off to pluck some thyme for the stir fry – just give me a minute.