Toward home I paused.
Everyone has a last summer.
Year before last I listened to John Mortimer's The Summer of a Dormouse on Radio 7.
I found it fascinating, gently shocking and impossible to turn off. By the end I was stone cold from the fear of the passage of time and its inevitable but denied consequence.
Your last line hit me the same way, but far faster.
I have been frightened of wasting time for the past two years - so why do I do it so much?