It often starts off with chaos, doesn’t it? Disarray, if not chaos.

And then, gradually, there’s a temporal epiphany… patterns emerge.
Reading the newspaper, watering the plants, breaking for lunch, waiting for tea,
Watching the rain, arrival of the milkman followed by the neighbourhood kittens,
playing a game… Scrabble, there’s always a game of Scrabble.

Patterns emerge.
Predictable patterns…
benevolence in the banal;
a method in the madness.
…

..

.
And before you know it, chaos again.

 
Well, then, has the clock stopped?
Or is Time a broken record?