© 2016 Eli Gauden 

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In my own idea of time

March 17, 2019

I'm on mountain top when I think these words. A small one. In fact, only a hill.

 

 I can see the houses, starting only hundred meter further down, and stretching out like a carpet of cement-boxes, all the way over to the other mountain. A low and constant high frequency hum from the morning rush fills the elsewise quiet air. Just as I reach the top, the sun surprise me. Now the wet grass shimmers as gold and the winter-grey wood is a paradise.

 

I sat down on a rock and followed the path with my eyes. Up and down, curving sideways. A big tree, a small tree, and many more. It's funny, I though. Although I'm the smallest step away from the city, the mountain is untouched. Close to untouched at least. Its bushes and trees has grown freely. The only paths are the paths made by sneakers.

 

This means that when my great grandfather walked this mountain 100 years ago, he probably walked the exact same path. He probably saw the same tree, just in its childhood stage. Maybe there were a little less bushes. Maybe the path was a little narrower or maybe wider. But when he gazed out, he saw the same mountain on the other side as I see today. Besides a ton of construction, the mountain is the exact same in it's size and shape. When I look out, I also see a lines of cars on their way to work. When he looked out, he probably saw sailboats and fishing ships.

 

Isn't is funny; As different as the world is today, as much as the city has grown, and as far as technology has taken us, I can still walk the same paths as my great grandpa did.

 

When I think about this, it is as if everything happens simultaneously. Walking this path happens now, but within my own idea of time. My great grandpa walked here now, within his time. Let's pretend that's true, that everything is now… cause in that case I can hold his hand.

 

That would be nice.

 

 

 

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