Time wrinkles. Fruit left on the counter, pants worn and rumpled, skin over the years of living. And, time wrinkles–casting us back through the years with a vividness that makes it impossible to believe a day has passed since the original moment’s being. Madeleine L’Engle first introduced me to the idea of wrinkly time in her classic, aptly named, A Wrinkle in Time. In this story, time is folded like fabric and the ability to travel through time instantaneously is possible.
It has been 30 years today since the death of my father. Dying at 42, he did not have time for time to wrinkle him. And when I revisit the winter and not yet spring of 1987, it is, in some ways, more clear than last week. Driving to school this morning I found myself wondering what his dreams were for life beyond 42. A few years beyond that myself with my own myriad dreams I feel grateful for the dreams realized and those hopefully held for time to come. Grateful for the wrinkles I note when I find my self at the mirror.