Time is our river. We flow with it, are part of it. Sometimes, it seems to rush along faster and certainly as we age, the time goes by so quickly we barely register what has happened before we are engulfed by the next surge of white water.
We think of time travel as requiring a porthole or some special machinery, but our lives are time travel. We are born. We live through time. We travel through our time from baby to old age. No machinery. No porthole. Just life.
Garry and I were at this concert. It was the last concert we went to and I still have pictures of her on stage. She sang all the songs we love and many memories are packed up with the words to this song.
Who knows where the time goes?