Time by the numbers

Time of day is different to me now, it matters less than it used to; likewise day of the week, month of the year. I do know what year it is, though. For me, time has become visual. I mark the passage of weeks and months with what's blooming in the neighborhood. The hours line up by how the light looks when I pay attention, or by the temperature.

There was gray, and gray, and gray, then the sun came out, and the bulbs popped up. So, now the peonies are out, and the roses. The bulbs are all gone, and the flowers have fallen from the fruit trees. The kittens and the baby birds are all very small, and most afternoons are bright, but not unbearably so.

Soon, the linden trees will flower, and their fragrance will fill the early evening air. That will mean it's about time for Memorial Day. The fruit trees will bear fruit, at least some of them will. That will mean it's summer. The leaves on my holly tree out front will harden, and its berries will turn red, and that will mean fall is coming soon, then the days will get shorter and the gray will come again.

I can keep appointments because I keep a calendar, but I know longer know the day of the week because I have to; I know because I see people on the streets and hear traffic noises. That's good.

before - after