Another Letter From Diane

The second, and last, of the series that never made it.

Well it’s getting a bit late. It’s also Saturday night, the time when my grandfather would announce that it was time to “feed the clock,” as he got up from his chair to wind it. I never forgot that. Some things stay with you over the years and his habit of feeding the clock was one of them. I guess if you don’t, then it rolls over and dies, or something like that. Or its hands hang down limp.

One of the profs I have at college told me all energy comes from the sun. No matter what we’ve got, from the sun it came. And I think of that occasionally when I see the hay growing, or the tractor running, or people walking along the roads going out to the fields. All the energy in the growing and the combustion and the walking came from the sun.

So I’m going to take some of that energy and pass it on to the clock. I guess that collection of hands, springs, screws and wood doesn’t realize it – doesn’t really feel a hunger or become aware of a fullness. But it would be nice, when we’re all safe and comfortable in heaven, to have all our pets and animals there with us sharing a higher consciousness, to be able to talk to the hay and the trees, and to chat with the clocks we fed every week.

I guess when it gets this late at night, I start sounding silly. But before I get all rational in the morning, I think I really should feed the clock.