A Traveler Named Time A traveler was walking along the road. He had a scythe upon his shoulder and an hourglass in his hand. He walked with measured, exact footsteps. His eyes looked straight in front—they never moved either to the right or left, but gazed on what was beyond. I said to him, “What's your name?” “My name is Time.” “Where are you going?” “I'm going to eternity.” “What's the number of your years?” He showed me an open book, and written on the page was the date of