I can hear the hands-on my grandfather's clock singing
tick,
tock,
tick,
tock,
I love the authentic sounds of the crackling and crispiness of the record player needle grooving to the melody on a Miles Davis vinyl.
As I listen, I fade back to when things were said to be simple.
This was before the digital chatter hijacked the sacred space.
These were the moments where busyness was not the taskmaster of time, but time was free, no contingencies, no placeholders, just pleasant and restful.
These were the moments where time had no master or mastery.
And the melody danced free.
Soulreal
©soulreal
C