Time

Time was already moving along when humans arrived with a surprising number of plans. At first, it assumed the calendars were decorative. Then came alarms, deadlines, and books about squeezing more life into a morning, and it realized we had turned the arrangement into a competition.

It has never understood the urgency. Forests seem perfectly comfortable with the pace. Mountains rarely ask for an extension. Evolution occasionally complains about the workload, but at least knows how to settle into a long project. Humans, meanwhile, keep announcing that thirty is the new twenty, as though Time might accept revised paperwork.

For all its smugness, it enjoys watching us grow into ourselves. A skill learned slowly, an old friendship, an apology that finally arrives: these are excellent uses of an afternoon, however many years the afternoon takes. It also handles Karma’s deliveries, which explains why nobody gets a tracking number. Ask whether something will happen soon and Time will give you a reassuring smile. It has used the same smile for several geological eras.