Time goes both too slowly and too quickly.
From one minute to the next, nothing seems any
different and yet before you know it, the day is
over, the summer’s gone to fall, adolescence
turns to middle age, and you’re in the nursing
home.
The annosphere tells time, but more usefully, it
presents time. It shows you sunrise and sunset,
the start of spring and the winter solstice. It lets
you see on your desk what you can’t see in the
world: the steady pace of time, the subtle day to
day changes in sunlight and shadow, the cycles
that run through each year.
Any cheap wristwatch with a ticking second
hand will be more precise than the annosphere.
But from year to year, when you wonder if winter
will ever end, and long for the day you’ll
awaken in sunlight, the time told by the annosphere
will be more valuable.
If you need to catch a plane, don’t count on the
annosphere to get to the airport on time. If
you’re going to be late for work, the
annosphere won’t tell you, but it won’t
nag you either.
The annosphere is about cycles, about the way
everything comes back to where it was, but
changed by the process.
