They walk among us. Some you notice, but many you don’t. Sometimes
they work their magic early in the day, in the half light before dawn
truly breaks. Others dart and dive at the height of the day, while
others still wait for the autumn of the light or the depths of
darkness itself.

They are not always easy to identify – often those with that puffy,
dead-eyed look are not the invisible ones, those with secrets and
passions. No, the weavers of time have a keen look, sharp and alert.
For them time is the most precious commodity. They are not those of
the chirpy description of nothing; indeed, rarely will you hear of
their exploits. But they do, and doing is what they do.

These time weavers are the ones who seem to fold the day in on and the
out of itself. With lightness of touch they pass between and through
all around us, filling voids and nipping away at moments and snippets
of floating opportunity.

They are the ones who see hours ahead not as distraction or a
wasteland, but as opportunity, a time to fill and grow. These are the
do-ers, the ones who have something interesting to say, but rarely
waste time by indulging themselves in the telling. Instead, they
occupy the here and now, and jump and pass through our conventional
waking hours to make more of the day (and the night) to live a fuller
life, one where achievement is not to be boasted of, but is a natural
end in itself.

The time weavers, they know how to live.