Utopian Turtletop. Monsieur Croche's Bête Noire. Contact: turtletop [at] hotmail [dot] com

Thursday, June 19, 2008

I heard the Cahn/Styne standard “Time After Time” on the radio today and was struck by the undercurrent of melancholy despite the words of love and gratitude:
Time after time
I tell myself that I’m
So lucky to be loving you
I wondered: Does the singer tell himself time after time because he needs convincing? No, that’s not quite it. It came clear with these lines:
I only know what I know
The passing years will show
You’ve kept my love so young, so new
The passing years! Time’s winged chariot! The melancholy of aging, despite love!

Time is the medium of transformation. Transformation is continual. Some transformations are gradual, some dramatic. My son is learning to swim. Today he swam better than he did Monday. When he really swam on Monday, joy dawned on his face, broke over the horizon of his consciousness and lit him up. So we went to the pool again Tuesday and again today, and he’s better every day. Transforming from a non-swimmer to a swimmer. A gift of time -- and effort.

-- Night and Sleep, Evelyn De Morgan, 1878

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