The Clockmaker’s Gift

In a small cobblestoned town in the middle of two green hills lived an old clockmaker, Elias Thorn. His workshop, tucked at the corner of Willow Street, was a symphony of crushing sounds - hundreds of clocks, ticking with a life of their own.

Elias had been in the business of repairing and making clocks for over fifty years. The townspeople often said that time itself obeyed his hands. He was kind, he was humble, and had always a faint smell of pine oil and brass dust due to him. Yet, behind his gentle eyes there was a loneliness about him that he never spoke of. His wife had died many winters ago and his only son, Henry, left town looking for a bigger life in the city. The letters came less and less and finally, not at all.

One frosty December morning a young girl called Lily, came running into his shop. Her cheeks were red with cold and her eyes were sparkling with determination.

“Mr. Thorn! "My mother's clock stopped working," she said pulling up a small wooden clock held close to her chest. It's the only thing my father left us before he - before he went away.

Elias took the clock gently. It was old - too old, he thought - and there was a tiny engraving at the bottom of it that said: For those who keep love in their time.

He smiled softly. “A fine piece. I'll be fixing it again soon young lady."

But, as he looked at the clock that evening, he realized something was strange - it was nothing like any design he had ever seen. Its gears were finely woven in silver filaments and the pendulum was in the shape of a small heart. There was art to it, there was craftsmanship, an emotion to it. He worked late into the night with the sound of ticking of his many creations ringing throughout the workshop.

When he finally got it fixed, the clock gave out a sickly hum, almost as if it was giving a sigh of relief. Then, something very extraordinary happened. For a moment, Elias saw - or thought he saw - a flash of light and a shadow of a man hugging his family. The vision disappeared as fast as it appeared and he was left staring at the clock in awe.

The next morning Lily came back. Elias gave her the clock very carefully. "It's mended," he said, "but be kind to it. It holds more than just time.”

She beamed. “Thank you, Mr. Thorn!”

As she was leaving, Elias watched her skip down the street. It seemed that for some reason the ticking of the repaired clock continued faintly in his workshop, even after she was gone.

Days turned into weeks. The snow melted and spring crept in town. But the weird memory of that glowing clock was in Elias's mind. Then one day, while he was polishing a pocket watch, he heard the bell that was above his door ring.

“Father?”

Elias froze. It was Henry - older, taller and weary if still unmistakably his son. Between them was years of silence was heavy.

"I didn't think that you'd still be around," Henry said softly. "The city was not what I thought it'd be." I missed… home.”

Elias was temblorous with his hands as he put down his tools. For a long time, neither said anything. Then, quietly, came this response, "I kept your old clock you know." It still runs perfectly.”

Henry’s eyes welled up. “You never gave up on me, did you?”

Elias smiled faintly. "Clock don't run at all (Only when the heart goes out) Yours never did.”

They stood there with the ticking of innumerable clocks around them and involved like a chorus of forgiveness. Time, it seemed, had finally been able to heal what silence had broken.

Later in the evening as the two had tea by the window, Elias told Henry about Lily and her magical clock. Henry chuckled. "Tou yetshey is always finding wonder in everything, Father."

"Maybe," Elias said looking out at the setting sun. "But sometimes, time gives us gifts at the times we are least expecting them."

The old workshop came to life again beginning that day. Henry helped his father to repair and once again the laughter filled the dusty little shop. The townspeople noticed that Elias appeared to be younger, livelier - as if the years had been turned backward like one of his clocks.

One night very long after Henry went to bed, there was a faint ticking sound in Elias'sHead; it wasn't from any of Elias'sclocks. He followed it into the shelf where Lily's repaired clock was before she took it. There, next to his tools, was a small slip of paper which hadn't been there previously.

In spic and small handwriting it read:

"Thank you for keeping love alive in your time" by John Lennon. — L.”

Elias smiled and at last understood. He switched off the lights, the workshop filled with the sound of the hours - soft and indulgent and eternal.