Living each day much muchier
I have a wall clock made from the cross section of a tree.
My best friend commissioned her father to make it from the felled wood he found in landscaping jobs.
I love it because the seconds, minutes and hours find their regular, circular path around the clock face. Underneath, the years of the tree ripple outward from its heart. The outside is rugged, unplanned and wild.
It’s order and chaos together, as they should be.
For three years the clock lay stashed away in a corner gathering dust.
When I moved out on my own, I put it up on the wall and discovered it was missing the number 6.
I thought that was fitting… in a silly, superstitious way. My last relationship really knocked me for six and it was like my clock bore a battle scar.
Over time, I’ve fallen in love with the world again. As the clock hands went round and round, time has healed.
Just the other day, I found a little, golden six on the floor in a place I’ve walked past a hundred times.
In a silly, superstitious way, I know I’ve found my six in more ways than one.
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