When we are young time stretches out infinitely, but we have no means to enjoy it. When we are old and have the means time melts away like Easter snow. Time, a Victorian undertaker smiles down at the suffering world from his rickety cycle which haphazardly drives the universe.
“But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingéd chariot hurrying near.
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity”
Andrew Morell
Boxwood & crystal
28 inches / 70 cm high