If we could view the passage of time from a far enough vantage point, then the rising and falling of mountains would seem little more than the rising and falling of waves in an ocean.

But equally, if we could view the passage of time from up close enough, then every single moment would feel like an eternity.

And perhaps it is.

You see, our concept of days, months, years, generations, aeons and so on are all generally based on us noticing change.

The flowers bloom to fade away again - and we call this the seasons.

Experiences become memories - and we call this “past, present and future”

Our body ages - and we say we are getting older.

Generations of people come and go - and we call it history.

Stars lose their heat - and we call it entropy.

And our combined perception of all this is built on the idea that a “moment” is short - whereas “time” and “future” and “eternity” are all long.

But I wonder, what if we were to realise that there is no difference between the two?

_

Then eternity itself would simply be an ever changing, yet never ending. moment.

And every single moment would be appreciated as an inextricable segment of eternity - linked together like grans of sand on a vast shore.

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Two people were once arguing over a spiritual metaphor.

The first person said that spirituality was like an acorn - i.e it is small enough to hold in the palm of our hand, yet has the potential to become something far greater if we take responsibility to nurture it correctly and plant it in fertile ground.

Meanwhile, the second person disagreed entirely.

They claimed that spirituality was, in fact, like an old oak tree instead - i.e it needs none of our “nurturing” or “planting” because it already towers above us. So it is actually our job just to revere it instead, as something older and wiser than we are. . . and then to rest in its shadow, or to seek nourishment from whatever leaves and fruits it may bring forth.

_

Thus, our two friends simply could not reconcile such different visions.

And in fact, their argument soon escalated to such an extent, it became violent.

The first person took a chainsaw and cut down an oak tree - just to prove that it was not so worthy of being revered after all.

While the second person snatched away the acorn, and crushed it into dust - just to prove how foolish it is to put hope in “potential” that was so fragile.

Then the first person started a fire - just to show that an entire forest of Oak trees which took hundreds of years to grow, could be burnt into oblivion in a single afternoon.

And the second person started their own fire too - scorching all the fields and all the earth around them, just to prove that “fertile ground” was really rather worthless anyway.

_

Before long, everything had been destroyed.

All the oak trees. All the acorns. All the land. All the days of their life. . .

But if only they had realised that the acorn and the oak tree are actually the same thing - just at different stages of development.

Then there would have been no need to disagree at all.

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So much of what we wish to hold on to 
has a tendency to slip through our fingers.

And so much that we wish to escape from 
has a tendency to find us again.

One summer evening,
I sketched your name
and a love heart in the sand.

But the beach has a bad memory,
Because when we returned the next day
Your name and the heart had both disappeared.

_

So, of course
we both tried to claim that these things
simply do not matter.

Oceans may rise and fall -
But our love was worth so much more
than these ever changing waves and tides.

_

Yet now,
After all these years since we said goodbye,
I find myself returning to that familiar shore again.

And the beach no longer has such a bad memory.
For you see, in every last grain of sand
It reminds me of that heart . . . 

And that name.

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www.georgebothamley.co.uk

I hope love is all it is claimed to be
Or else the sun would rise in vain for me.

Whenever we are apart
I think of you.

And when I am not thinking
I am dreaming about you.

And when I am not dreaming
the world does not even exist
for me.

So if you would like to know my heart . . .
it is simple enough to count
on three fingers.

First - it was always you

Second - it will always be you

Third - why did I ever bother counting to three?

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All artwork is hand drawn by me - with more originals available to view at www.georgebothamley.co.uk

When I was a child, summer always felt like my happiest season.

I was born in summer - so, naturally, that helped. And of course, along with the opportunity to spend time with my family, it brought at least six weeks without the worries of school (though, admittedly, I did not always attend school as much as I was supposed to anyway.)

But I think one of the greatest blessing of our childhood summer is just how long it seemed to last for.

Literally, over the course of a single season, it would feel as if the entire world would change. Or, at least, it had that potential to become something so wonderful.

_

I remember, my friends and I would go climbing at these little passages of rocks, and feel as if we were scaling mountains together . . . or head off on these wild, sprawling adventures as if it were some kind of epic expedition (when in all honesty, they led us barely a mile from our own neighbourhood.)

But sadly, those days are long gone now. And it is strange how all those long, endless summers now feel so very fleeting.

The friendships. The first romances. The innocent games. The hopes. The possibilities. It all goes by so quickly, doesn’t it!

But I suppose what we lose from experience, we gain in memory.

*

Listen
if there should ever come a time
when you think of me again
I will be thinking of you.

And if you remember my name or my face
(even if only for a moment)
Or you slip into reminiscing over the secrets we shared
and the days we spent 
and the years which passed us by so quickly -
I will be remembering too.

You see?
This was always more than just a phase for me.

My heart remains exactly where it has always been
ever since I gave it to you.

So if you should no longer want to keep it . . .
then it is yours to throw away.

And if you would rather forget me -
Then I can forget too.

And if you would wish me away -
Then believe me, I will already be gone.

But still,
if the day should come
when you find yourself looking for me -
Rest assured, 
I will not be hard to find.

And if by some strange chance
you find yourself loving me again,
I will still be loving you.

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