The old iron gate of the Hawthorne estate hadn’t creaked in decades, but today it groaned under Arthur’s hand. He was seventy-five now, his knuckles like gnarled cedar roots, clutching a small, leather-bound ledger.
: Intentions are the bridge between thought and reality, but many people never cross it. INTENTIONS
, like "the road to hell is paved with good intentions." The old iron gate of the Hawthorne estate
Arthur had spent forty years as a master clockmaker. In that time, he had learned one absolute truth: people think time is about the gears, but time is actually about the intention behind the movement. his knuckles like gnarled cedar roots