Now it passes slowly, when once I could not find enough. This time we are in.
Waiting, not knowing for how long, not knowing what may be.
I find ways to pass the time, wonder what I did with all that time, and find nothing more but time ahead.
Other times, I remember that the pace of my life is seldom in my control.
This social distancing thing has sent my psyche into a whirlwind. Sometimes I feel all boo-hoo, alone and reaching for another individually-wrapped bag of barbecue potato chips, which were conveniently delivered in a cardboard box by a hurried stranger. Other times, I see clearly that we’re all in this — separately and together.
The pale blue light of late day reached through the window this week and found me sitting on the couch in a slump. I could hear the rain had returned, just a patter on the thick plastic that hangs over my picnic table.
A rainbow. That would make me happy. I wagered this was the right time to find one outside.
My friend Chere taught me that anyone can find a four-leaf clover. You just need to take the time to find them.
Rainbows are the same. Once you know the signs, listen and watch, all you need to do is get off the couch and chase them.
I was not disappointed. The colors stretched across the eastern sky, surely touching down north near the airport and soaring south to the Midway. As I took the time to document the moment, the hint of a double rainbow appeared. In this light, the color of the trees transformed to the yellow of Gingkos we see in the fall.
I proudly posted this joy-filled moment to share with anyone and everyone. If I needed a boost about this time, others would as well.
Within minutes, more than a dozen other rainbow pictures were posted. Suddenly, “my rainbow” was trending.
“I saw it too,” Erin gloated online, and I could feel her smile from halfway across town. “Socially distanced rainbow sharing,” she said.
Our politicians keep saying our virulent circumstances should be considered a war. This week our rainbow won the battle.
Another war is the battle of the weeds. With time standing still, many of us are paying closer attention to the slow changes in our gardens.
If you consider gardening to be exercise, I did about 1,000 squats in my yard yanking coarse grass that had just gone to seed. I could have sworn I pulled all the tall invaders from the poppies just the day before. Yet, each time I looked, more had taken their place.
Someday, scientists may discover that plants talk to each other. The moment one weed disappears, three that remain form a committee and decide now is the time to produce seeds as quickly as possible.
I have already documented that Velcro weeds can don a Harry Potter cloak. I’ll stare directly at Velcro weeds, certain that all I see is periwinkle.
However, these days I am looking at things more closely. You see, I planted seeds. I don’t plant in neat rows, and I certainly don’t have a labeling system. I put things in the ground, then try to generally remember where I need to add water. In this way, I am frequently surprised.
I can’t remember how much time has passed since my Totally Cool Neighbor and I pushed beans into the ground. Was it a week? 12 days? Last time I looked, I saw sprouts, which may be our beans or might merely be last year’s morning glories, coming back one more time. My quick crop of radishes are on their way, and I likely planted the squash too soon. No worries, the squash seeds may simply be taking their own sweet time.