A timeline is sometimes represented as a ball of yarn manipulated by students who may unwind the yarn, tie knots in it, make labels for various events then stretch the yarn out. How far does it go?
That precisely is the problem. The yarn is finite.
A writer might give a piece of stretched-out yarn to her cat to roll into a ball but of course a cat can’t do that. When the cat gives up the birds take the yarn and weave it into their nests. I’ve seen the osprey nest on a platform atop a high pole east of Bend. The yarn (actually bailing twine) is tucked (or woven) into the nest but long pieces dangle over the edge. A fringe. What the wind plays with. That’s what happens. Time.
On Sunday a Coopers hawk perched on a chain link fence, scrutinizing someone’s backyard. I walked across the street for a closer look. The hawk looked at me and didn’t budge.