The town hall clock, hands of time
Counting the minutes, measuring the moments
Of our paltry lives.
We don’t look up enough
Sometimes we don’t see beyond our own story
Yet still the hands move round.
That same clock struck 11, sixteen years ago.
Same minute, same location, same season.
The leaves fell to the ground in remembrance.
Synchronicity in those hands
You were so small then in your red coat.
Time stood still for that one moment.
I captured your essence in early digital perfection.
The father, the child, the moment
Beneath the town hall clock, the hands that never stop.
©Alison Jean Hankinson
This is for d’Verse. It is my ode to the town hall clock which seems visible from just about everywhere in Lancaster. The theme and timing is appropriate as it will be Remembrance weekend. The feature image was taken after the service in 2001 where ironically my husband was in the remembrance parade before he became a veteran of war.