What is time?

Is it counting? Is it really a written tally of minutes and mornings? Or is it wider than linear?

Is it the number of glasses and flannel and denim you have worn? ...or the number of buttons, belts, and boots that have kept you warm? Perhaps it is as simple as the freckles splattered across your forehead and the number of brown and white hairs sewn through the skin of your chin. Your face, shaped by line and circle, perhaps it is my clock. Perhaps, you are my clock. And this strong body, the part of you I feel with my strong body, is proof of the tide, and of the earth's turning, and of time. 

Your body is different now. Those 18-year-old atoms are all long gone. At the moment, new molecules make and move you. I hope that as these strong bodies shed and bloom, the formless souls in and around them will continue to grow too. May we grow too like fog, like water in the wind. May we blow to the sea and sky and into every community we reside.  May we grow and grow just as we know the universe grows and grows. May we be universes! - side by side, blissfully, blessed, boundless, and beautiful. Your body is different now. And you too are different. However, since we met, there has always been this knowing, - this knowing that we would follow us. As we have followed us, we have fallen into a generous flow, a current so natural and gentle. Boulders, dams, and boats wouldn't (or perhaps couldn't) stop us. I was never meant to meet many lovers. This I have also always known. You are this life, and in this life, you are my clock. 

Between you and me, there is a wild and simple and intimate love. It is raw, honest, vulnerable, and quiet. This love has never been taken for granted ...like we sometimes take water from the tap for granted, or food from the grocery for granted, or the air we breathe for granted. This love has never been taken for granted. We are grateful.