Night of the Clocks
Carolyn Caines
|
In Jacksonville, an old mining town
where antique clocks await adoption, we picked out our first, a Gilbert wall clock with ornate spindles and soft tick-tick voice. Soon the fireplace mantel became home for a simple kitchen clock with short pendulum, while the sounds of a Black Forest cuckoo sounded hour and half-hour by the front door. A schoolhouse clock traveled from England, its deep bongs no longer calling children. A few years later, the solid brass, heavy, U.S. World War II ship clocks began gathering. The resonant chimes of the ship clocks continue to call the watches for sailors long-gone. On a quiet night they are joined with the ticking from electric and battery powered newbies. When the grandsons come to spend the night, pendulums are stilled, batteries removed, tick-tocking silenced. Time is put to rest until the morning finds Grandpa with his clock key. |
Midtwirl | Jeneaka | Charcoal and Pastel
|