A clock is a beautiful thing. Gears mesh with a precise and delicate sort of intimacy. Ornate hands twirl and orbit unyielding numbers. The pendulum lives within its tempo and supersedes all silence; calmly rocking from crescendo to crescendo. There’s a certain unerring quality about the whole operation; an almost romantic je ne sais quoi. It’s very hard not to admire a clock.
Consider the qualities if you will: The elegant yet tireless navigation of time’s circumference; the dutiful and honest reckoning of the hours; the unquenched pursuit of temporal perfection. Unlike human beings, a clock takes nothing for granted and is remarkably consistent.