This is my grandfather’s pocket watch, which usually lies hidden at the back of a drawer along with other assorted things I’ve kept since I was a child. From time to time I think of it and remember where it is, and sometimes I’ll go and rummage about and find it, and hold it in my hand.
I’m glad I still have this thing that was once his. I used to have others – I remember a little wooden snuff box that still smelt tantalisingly of snuff – but no amount of thinking or rummaging in drawers will bring this back. It’s gone, and exists only in my memory.
I was still very young when my grandfather died and my memory of him is hazy and dim. But this watch, this small thing that he must have held often, and handled – it lies in my hand, smooth and round and surprisingly heavy, and I think of him. In another hundred years, or even in 50, what object that I use every day could find its way into another’s hand and be so full of delight? I can think of nothing at all.
Weekly photo challenge: time