what time is it?

Steeple in other times

From the intersection on Main Street at 6:36 a.m. today, it was 6 degrees Fahrenheit according to the digital clock that decorates what once was a bank but now houses an upscale jewelry store whose wares are pretty unconvincing in my eye.

To the left, in the early-morning sun, the clock in the 19th century church steeple read 9:13.

When the bank was not yet a jewelry store, perhaps the steeple clock ran with a more cared-for precision, but it is old now and quaint and the people who once regulated their activities according to its instruction ... well, they have been replaced on the sidewalks below by brisk and capable owners of cell phones that tell a more compelling time.

In the midst of "time" there is no time, but otherwise everyone knows how to "tell time." What a handsome and persuasive presumption time is, so off-hand on the one hand and so insistent on the other. A bedrock boon companion, perhaps.

And yet, without going into some religio-philosophical swivet about it, I think time deserves some examination when straightening out the sock drawer of this life. All the old steeples of assumption deserve such a visit and reconsideration ... and time is among them.

How else could anyone know precisely what time it is?