The Second Hand

By Andrew R. Duckworth

The minute hand slows
As the quiet wraps its blanket
Around the mountaintop.
No heavy traffic of thought,
Take it at your own pace.
But it will force you to think,
Dive in the brain and swim.
The second hand stops
As the clouds halt
And all that remains
Is an unstoppable breeze
And a thick silence.
The perfect place to wonder
And the perfect time is now.