Do you find that the days tend to blend together with little to differentiate one from the other? In spite of the fact that I am teaching from home and thus "working" five days per week, the days run into each other like boxes on the calendar. On Sundays we tune in to online church, but other than that, every day seems much like the one before.
Time feels suspended as we wait for the end of this isolation and distancing, yet in real time life continues on as it always does. In my garden I can see the season unfold; first the snowdrops, then the muscari and daffodils, then hyacinths, and now tulips. Many of my bulbs were snatched by squirrels, I think, but the ones that survived stand with pride in the sun-filled days we are enjoying.
Many years ago a friend gave me this book Time Began in a Garden. Emilie Barnes writes, "Garden time is time that involves itself in the moment, that passes each moment fully alive, that focuses on the soaring stateliness of trees and the minute scale of the tiniest blossom and insect. Garden time requires daily attention, but does not require that everything be done in a day."
In my garden, or walking outdoors, I rediscover that kind of time. A fat peony promises the soon revelation of ruffled flowers and sweet scent.
Bees were busy about the rosemary bush this morning. I watched a dotted red ladybug clambering about in the grass. Snap peas are up and I thinned the radishes. Strawberry plants are in bloom and we'll enjoy a good supply of berries if the slugs don't get them first. Our apple trees are just beginning to blossom. Life is bursting out.
In one garden bed, violets spread themselves green and purple under the roses. They are so pretty, and for now, they have remained in one spot, so I'll let them be. Their little faces are so pretty and I think them the dearest things.
How are you feeling about time these days? Too much, too little? Does garden time seem like a good thing to you? Stay well, my friends.