Hymn to Time

HYMN TO TIME

                                               by Ursula K. Le Guin

                               Time says “Let there be”
                               every moment and instantly
                               there is space and the radiance
                               of each bright galaxy.

                

                                And eyes beholding radiance.
                                And the gnats’ flickering dance.
                                And the seas’ expanse.
                                And death, and chance.

                                                 

                                   Time makes room
                                   for going and coming home
                                   and in time’s womb
                                   begins all ending.

                                  Time is being and being
                                   time, it is all one thing,
                                   the shining, the seeing,
                                   the dark abounding.

                 

pictures from the Hubble telescope -- nope, not mine. Nor John's.

Nature Laughs at Time-Pieces - Magpie Tales

                                Not for her, Man's silly watches, keeping

                                Manufactured time, turning eternal

                                Tracts of forever into infernal

                                Seconds and minutes bounded by beeping.

                                No, not for her, the minute hand creeping,

                                Alarm clocks ticking order external,

                                Making the rules for lives once diurnal 
                                Setting strict hours for waking and sleeping . . .
 
                                Her time is reckoned by the Great Bear's pace
                                Circling the lynch pin of the starry skies . . .
                                Hot summer's fecund growth . . . late swarming bees . . .
                                Slow fall of crisping leaves . . . bright ice's trace.
                                Her clocks are dandelions and brief May-flies
                                And cuckoos calling from the spring-green trees.

For more Magpie Tales, go HERE.