Broken Time

A polaroid is instant.

 At the push of a button, gears, and wheels spin, producing an image that time reveals through the magic of layers of light-sensitive silver grains and a reagent. The image appears slowly over minutes, of a tree, deeply rooted to a place and history, bearing the marks and scars of years.

 There is no such thing as single time. Within the polaroid in your hand, you hold the instant and the infinite. If you fracture it, release the agents, and run your fingers over it, you mark your place in time squarely in the unrelenting fixed and metered increments of seconds, minutes, and hours, effectively breaking time's constructs.

 I revel in an instant – mindfully present, seizing each fleeting moment. Mine is a curious exploration of life's purpose and meaning, strung lovingly with snapshots of time from the instant to the infinite with people I love, connecting time, revisiting it, puzzling it together until it reflects the evolving me.