New Scientist geht in seiner aktuellen Titelgeschichte der Frage nach, woher die Zeit kommt. Ich hingegen frag mich immer, wohin sie eigentlich geht.

YOU wake up one morning and head into your kitchen, where you get the distinct feeling that something strange is going on. A swirl of milk separates itself from your coffee, which seems to be growing hotter by the minute. Scrambled eggs are unscrambling and leaping out of the pan back into their cracked shells, which proceed to reassemble. And the warm sunlight that had flooded the room seems to be headed straight for the window. Apparently, you conclude, time is flowing in reverse. You can deduce this because it is obvious that time has an arrow, which, this morning aside, always points in the same direction. We take the unchanging arrow of time for granted. Yet there is nothing in the laws of physics as we know them that says it can't point the other way. So the riddle is: where does time's arrow come from?