The arrow thudded into the target with a satisfying thud, scoring a much needed five points for our team. The bow, still clutched in my hand, was placed horizontal out in front of me as I latched another arrow onto the string, brought it up vertical, drew back the string to just under my chin, aimed and fired again.
I hadn’t fired a bow for a few years now and, as it slowly came back to me after going through the basics with the other participants it made me think of how previous generations of humans had used the bow for pleasure, for war, and for hunting, for millennium. The bow and arrow isn’t a modern weapon, it isn’t a gun. It is a thing of beauty, sleek and skillful.
Ah the passing of the time, of time’s infinite arrow into the unknown. The string and the thack of the arrow into the wooden boards reminded me of the twanging of the heavy bass strings, of the light and bluesy guitar strings in comparison, and of the intricacies and follies of string theory, and ultimately, of the vibrancy of life.
Last week I visited Amsterdam with friends, and it was beautiful. Time slowed down, came to a stop a few times, and seemed to go all too fast as we left that beautiful, surreal city.