There are different ways to measure a passage of time. A watch to watch the minutes and hours, the first swim of summer marks the years.
The one that catches in my throat these days is rubbish day.
Every Wednesday I take out the bin. And every Wednesday, I’m having the same thought: where did that week go?
Eleven years in this one house, the longest I’ve ever lived in one place. Eleven years of putting the rubbish out on Wednesday. Where did all that go?
At first glance the street looks the same as it did when we moved in. But look a bit closer and there are signs of change. The pohutukawa have been torn by storms and now are coming back. The bloke across the road is on to his third car restoration. Most of all, all the kids are growing to nearly grown. Especially my LittleDavys aren’t so little anymore except in my heart.
Ah, that’s where those weeks and years have gone. Living.