It rolls forward, like a wave; it undulates and somersaults; it speeds ahead and rises up; it covers what was with what is and will be; it arrives where it’s going and keeps on going, carrying you and everything else along relentlessly, inevitably, and forever.
Come to think of it, time is pretty much the same as a bike ride through the woods over twisty trails at night. And come to think of it, that’s just what’s been happening for a long, long time on Thursday nights up the upper left hand corner of our continent.
And yet.
There’s still the never-before-assayed experience to be had, even though, in the Yelp review version of the accounting it would be pointed out that pretty much all of the places had been gotten to previously just not via those same sylvan routes nor all in the same evening.
Moreover, the combination of high bridge sunset and open-air meat market with tree-lined corridor alongside massive industrial public works project was a first to be sure, as was the final destination, thankfully arrived at via tarmac rather than wood chips.
There will come the day, to be sure, when pure legs succumb to electric assist, and even now, a hand in the small of the back impelled by happy electrons is not to be scorned, but as long as walking and pushing is allowed you can hold it off for a little bit longer in spite of the temptation to flatten the hills.
“Analogue,” (as it’s apparently referred to) still carries you forward, just like time itself, heading up, down, and all around, past apple-chunking colleagues, sun-drenched horizons, fish-netted flesh merchants, spooky-looking footpaths, quickly improvised fairy rings, and heartily-welcoming watering holes.
No need to put a motor on temporal passage, not yet anyway, it’s still getting us all where we’re going right now, just in time.
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