Don't laugh at me, this is something I genuinely got side tracked thinking about while I was trying to study at the park the other day. It was a beautiful, sunny day in Milton and it smelled like tree sap and pine needles and bark. I'd found a picnic table, sitting randomly in the parking lot in a patch of sun, facing the woods. I was sitting, staring at the swaying trees, thinking about how long they might have been there, and how many times they'd swayed just like that, and as I watched the different people filter through the park with their families, and how many families and dogs and couples just like those the trees had born witness to, going about the same activities over the years. The more I stared at the trees, the less appealing my homework seemed to become as I got lost in my own head again. I pulled out my pen and notebook and started jotting my thoughts.
"How do we know of passing time? s it the passing cars that we see and say "Oh, that car is passing, thereby, time must be passing as well."? As if their motion pushes on the motion of time, for isn't time, the ongoing passing of action?
Is it then, in movement? If the cars didn't pass and the birds didn't fly; if the trees didn't sway and everything -and everyone- stood perfectly still- would time still pass? If it never got any darker, or any lighter, would time still pass?
What if, people didn't grow weary and wrinkled and the same generation just hung around forever?
Would time still pass? What would be it's relevance if it did?"
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