Time and Magic.

Magic and Time.

Time, at some points and places, stretches. Days seem longer, the mind translates the passage of the sun in ways which are not, perhaps, normal. When I was eight, my family moved to Stromness, Orkney. The month was March, so the daylight was practically the same across the single face of our globe yet, as the months passed and I ventured out to play and explore, to search for lost gold in the burns, plan raft voyages to the Amazon, and torment the bull in the field below Brinkie’s Brae, the evenings grew beyond anything I had ever witnessed.

Time stretched. The sun would be high in the sky, long before I woke, and would still be there when I went to bed. It was as though our relocation had gifted me with unlimited playtime, unlimited potential adventure. This was, of course, before that first, dark, and long winter and subsequent SADness.