By Betty McCauley
Brendan has a new watch.
“Hurry,” I say.
“It’s almost a quarter to eight –
we’ll be late.”
“No Grandma – it’s only 7:43.”
He examines his digital watch
with grave certainty.
Years ago his Grandpa Jim,
whose clock ran down before Brendan was born,
prophesied concerning digital clocks.
“They’ll never learn cycles,” he’d say.
“How will they understand
unending circles of nature?
How will they know that next year’s buds under rhododendron blossoms,are part of cycles of eternity? Or the lunar journey from new moon to new moonis a fraction of year to year, on infinitum? Without the clock face can they define diurnal or seasonal?”
On a more mundane level, I wonder will Brendan know clockwise or counter-clockwise?
And will he always measure time leisurely,
by sixty minutes since the last hour, while I look