The Clock House

Last weekend I drove a few hours to meet a friend I haven’t seen in a long time. Because we live so far apart, we found a city about halfway in between her place and mine, where we try to meet once a year. This past weekend, we stayed in a bed and breakfast, a large, historic home in a residential area.

Typically staying in such places is homier than a generic hotel room, but this one had quirks that set us on edge. The owner was obviously a clock enthusiast, as clocks of all sizes ticked and chimed in every room in the house. On the third floor, where our room was located, there were even clocks in the bathroom. One in particular ticked loudly, and as we brushed our teeth, my friend joked, “It’s as though it’s saying, you don’t have much time left; is this really how you want to spend it?”

I thought about what it would be like to live in a space like that all the time, loud with the sound of seconds ticking away, every fifteen minutes marked with chimes. Maybe after awhile, it would change my relationship to time. Maybe I would feel anxious and harried at first, then settle into a different state, where the sound of each second is always present but unremarkable. Just background noise. Nothing to be acted upon. Each one no more or less important than the next.

The Change in Season

My aunt in Maine sent this gorgeous photo of the scenery outside her house by the lake, adding, “The change in season is strong here….”

Where I live, the change in season is not strong. It’s almost non-existent. Last weekend the Photographer and I went to the farmers’ market and saw apples and butternut squash. The squash were quite small, and I remarked, perhaps it’s too early in the season yet. The Photographer said, it’s mid-October.

Last year at this time, walking through my favorite hiking place was like walking through a sea of yellow, the leaves on the ground, in the air. Right now it’s just over 80 degrees outside.

I miss the Fall.

New Space

I dreamed I was walking home to my apartment, only when I got there, I couldn’t find a door with my apartment number on it. Was I on the wrong floor? What was going on? Then I saw the manager of an old apartment building I used to live in. He had moved my apartment, quite literally, moved the whole thing. There was some flood damage in my old unit, so he had moved all my stuff into a new space. He had done a pretty good job too. I walked inside and noticed everything was pretty well in place except for a few boxes.

The new space was much bigger. The most amazing thing, though, was the view. Where I live now, I have a nice view of the neighborhood out of my bedroom window. But the new space was on a hill, and it had an area in back where I could sit outside (there were even a couple of chairs out there) and look out at beautiful, rugged hills. There was even a little hiking trail that led off towards the top of one hill.  I walked out a little and looked back towards the apartment. I noticed there was no door separating inside from outside, just a gentle transition from one to the next.

I love dreams where I am surprised to find new space. Somehow when I wake up, even in my old, familiar space, the feeling of expansiveness and gratitude remains. Somehow, on some level, the space isn’t lost with the waking up.