Monday night soundscape.

Thunder. Rain falling. Ticking, ticking clocks.

I love the sound of a clock ticking. The mechanisms of an analogue clock fascinate me, as does the way they each have their own distinct sound.

The black one was a Kmart buy years ago, and used to live in a reading nook in the corner of my library. The hands stopped moving the day I packed it up to bring it home, along with so many of my personal pieces that were no longer required in the space I loved, but it still gives out a low gentle beat occasionally, marking a time that hasn’t moved on in over three years.

The green one I found in a little shop one day, and I’m not gonna lie, I kind of built my entire bedroom colour scheme around it. It marks each second, reliably keeping time with a deep regular thud.

And the silver and cream beauty was sitting in a box of freebies on the front fence of a home I pass by every day on my way to work. It’s a frantic little thing, 3 ticks a second, trying to fit as much into a minute as it can.

Time. It’s a funny thing, huh? Staying with us long after it’s gone, and yet wasted as we rush through it, trying so desperately to fit so much in. #clockwork #time #tickingclocks

I posted this on Instagram and Facebook last night. It had been a weird sort of day, after a long, wonderful, emotional and exhausting weekend. About half an hour later, I got a phone call from my partner and best friend, who had decided he just needed to read me some poetry by Neil before I went to sleep. Timing, huh? I couldn’t talk to him – didn’t even really know what to say about how I was feeling. But he just knew. He knew not to ask me too many questions, and he knew just what I needed. Sometimes it’s just all about the timing. And he’s got the best.