I look at the clock: 5:00 p.m. It’s one of those moments. I close my eyes. Time. A sloth moving up a thick elm tree, a fleeting flash of lightening on a watery horizon. Time stands still, but not placid enough for my finger tips to touch it. Only in one of these moments does it feel like I’ve seen life unravel before my eyes, like I have been standing here, stoic for millions of years. It’s so slow and so swift that it all just feels like history, almost like make believe. Kind of like when you look through old yearbooks and you see your first grade photo- you in your plaid jumper, a crisp crimson ribbon in your hair- and the past just seems to be a delusion. A whimsical blob that is so real and raw, it somehow seems fake. It’s kind of like that, but not. It’s even more organic and consuming. I open my eyes. It was one of those moments. I look at the clock: 5:02 p.m.