This week felt a little bit like they had cancelled spring and were going to go straight to summer, as February’s winter storm showed its stamp on the plants that had already emerged just as the snow and ice arrived. The early bloomers looked alive but battered, with no sign of flowering at a time when, in a normal year, the purple blossoms of the spiderwort hide all the trash buried in this bluff at the edge of town. The air was warm, but that balmy greenhouse warm that feels slightly apocalyptic. I saw one flower on Monday, and took it for a sidewalk invasive, but looking at the picture now I think it must have been a yellow primrose, a native that thrives in unmowed rights of way.
Nice read! Imagining how each of us and all of us reimagine our 'clocks' as we emerge from this most unusual world is something our household ruminates upon with frequency. What are the lessons and routines we can take forward? What did we miss over the year? What did we gain? Strange days indeed.
Tracking the lost hour
Thank you. Much in this post is new to my heart and yet went straight there.
Thought provoking read. Thanks for waking me up after losing an hour of sleep last night.
Nice read! Imagining how each of us and all of us reimagine our 'clocks' as we emerge from this most unusual world is something our household ruminates upon with frequency. What are the lessons and routines we can take forward? What did we miss over the year? What did we gain? Strange days indeed.