For many years I carried a pocket watch that my mother gave to me. I couldn't really see the numbers. Oddly this didn't matter. The thing I liked was the heft of the watch and its impartial ticking. I liked the coolness of the metal against my face. I had frequent headaches as a child and I'd press the watch against the delicate skin surrounding my eyes. The watch ticked like synchronized falling pins.
Are we losing the delicate sounds from our lives? Are we being pushed too fast for such things?
The Finnish composer Jan Sibelius used to listen to the sounds of branches outside his window.
Listening without the expectation of an answer is a vanishing skill.
I don't know what became of my mother's pocket watch. I like to think it's a part of my little habitation of an hour.
SK
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