The Black Clock

The clock was showing 9:37. It was black. This may be a metaphor for the night that
looms silently over us both literally and figuratively, both in the absence of light and
of our deepest fears. The fear of death, the fear of commitment, the fear being
alone. Also the white hands looming silently and steadily, the joy of life briefly
disrupting the almost constant blackness, spaced constantly throughout the day,
week, hour, minute, second. Lasting just long enough to give us hope that all could
better. The clock was showing 9:47