Time goes both too slowly and too quickly. From one minute to the next, nothing seems any different and yet before you know it, the day is over, the summer’s gone to fall, adolescence turns to middle age, and you’re in the nursing home.
The annosphere tells time, but more usefully, it presents time. It shows you sunrise and sunset, the start of spring and the winter solstice. It lets you see on your desk what you can’t see in the world: the steady pace of time, the subtle day to day changes in sunlight and shadow, the cycles that run through each year.
Any cheap wristwatch with a ticking second hand will be more precise than the annosphere. But from year to year, when you wonder if winter will ever end, and long for the day you’ll awaken in sunlight, the time told by the annosphere will be more valuable.
If you need to catch a plane, don’t count on the annosphere to get to the airport on time. If you’re going to be late for work, the annosphere won’t tell you, but it won’t nag you either.
The annosphere is about cycles, about the way everything comes back to where it was, but changed by the process.