A small crystal clock that once belonged to my mother sits on my nightstand. One classy thing amongst my scattered clutter — 16 books, 2 hair clips, my son’s Legos, and a winged Skylander.
When the world is quiet.
When I’m quiet.
I hear the tick tock beat of time slow and steady.
Her clock. From her nightstand.
In the quiet, she speaks to me of time and timelessness.
I’m still here with you.
When I lay in the stillness of night, I imagine her listening to the same the tick tock beat, and wonder what she thought about.
Then I realize that, at least sometimes, it would have been me.
And I smile.
Thinking of her thinking of me.