Little Miss Hobbs, Pt. VI: Applause for the Watchmaker

The rain tapped the glass of the window, punctuating the silence in the halls. They weren’t particularly long, but the cavernous echo came to fill the void designed by the Loneliness. Little Miss Hobbs never minded much or paid Loneliness much attention, and when she did, it was never for long. But when the clouds are gray yet distant and the music playing in the background follows their lead, it expands the hallways and each room until leagues of silence lay active between Little Miss Hobbs’ couch and the kitchen table.

Yet there, in the rain, God tapped His deafening reminder that He is capable of filling every void with Love. Then again… as the rain ceased and thunder no longer rumbled low, Little Miss Hobbs remained only human, and that often means forgetful, of even the most obvious Truths.

So she searched and sought a clock whose ticking might be reminiscent of God’s overwhelming whispered reminders. It did not take long to find a passable apparatus, but somehow the brand-new, pristine clock on the shelf of the gadget and doo-dad shop seemed tainted and corrupt. She walked along the street lined with stores whose signs held such promise, determined to hear a ticking resembling the tapping of approximate timber and temperament that announced the Lord. She double- and triple- checked convenience stores, dollar stores, and general stores to no avail. In the Mad Hatter Antiques Store, there stood a squat yet proud alarm clock whose silver bells reflected even the twinkle in her eye, but as she raised it to her ear, it was just a tad too twangy and shrill. Wistfully, she replaced it in its dusty spot on the shelf. With a sigh, she turned to examine more of the room, listening as intently as she looked. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a humble grandfather clock, tucked in a corner behind a grand dining table. The table was chestnut in color, topped with polished silver utensils, ivory, wafer-like china sets, complete with tea cups and saucers, the rims of each plate, saucer, and cup seemingly dipped and accented with silver, or more likely, platinum. Between the table and place settings, a fine table runner made of silk, edged with elegant designs, highlighting the grandeur of it all.

The grandfather clock was the same deep wood tone as the table, yet without the finery or ostentatious detail that the table and its settings proudly held. Little Miss Hobbs snuck between the chairs, table, and shelves which stood on either side of the clock, and were positively lined, coated, and filled with interesting knick-knacks until she finally acquired a position in which her ear might discern the clock’s patient rhythm. Slowly, delicately, she leaned in, even hushing her breath as to not corrupt its tone.

Filled with ticks and tocks, clicks and knocks, it certainly resembled the cacophony of the rain on wet pavement, but the ticks were too snappy and the tocks too sloppy, the clicks like dry twigs falling on stones, and the knocks like bouncy balls on timpani drums.

Two dozen more clocks of every persuasion underwent her scrutiny – shinier bedside alarm clocks, other grander grandfather clocks, and some clocks she swore hung from the center of the ceiling like chandeliers. Not a single one of them reminded her of rain or the Love of the Lord, so head hung lower and shoulders slightly hunched, she scraped her heels down the sidewalk once again…

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