When the Time is Out of Joint

Today

I don’t know about March’s entrance and exit, but April’s coming in like a tentacled alien. The conflation of surviving a year of pandemic, of responding to climate change and spring’s erupting haste, and of noticing and tending our pent-up desire for community and social proximity has far-reaching implications, and it seems they’re spreading and winding everywhere, at once. Prioritize, or be entangled.

Our furnace is turned off and windows have been open morning and night; gardens are exploding way ahead of past patterns; our first April shower has just thundered and flashed through today’s 75-degree spaces; Phillip’s receiving frequent jobs for cabinetry and etc. that he can do at home; we’re still trying to finish our own remodeling work; I’m writing and editing three books at once; it feels like everyone’s traveling everywhere; and a million things are suddenly happening. The world’s been shaking in a dice cup that’s been dumped back out this month: what are the odds we’ll survive? I wonder.

Of course, I realize a lot of us are still most often at home, cautious about the Covid variants and the many ways we can protect ourselves and others, practicing the safety protocols when we’re out shopping, etc., but spring, or sprummer, has definitely sprung, and its invitations ring out and linger, a siren song few, it seems, can resist while remembering Covid and her variants are still very much present and actively mutating.

For at least 12 months, we haven’t had to prioritize much at all. We woke up, cared for the dogs, cats, and gardens, pursued our callings, went nowhere, had no appointments, and moved through our days slowly, the peace of it all only unnerved at times by Covid and political news, but we felt safe, even a bit unmoored, floating along on our little Full Moon Island.

I can feel the tightness of our atoms and small world dispersing into the greater world these days. Connections that relied on mutual support this past secluded year are loosening as others’ worlds and their invitations open up as well. But we’re both old pros at making lists, organizing schedules, moving through task-filled days and managing to take breaks when we need them, so we’re not worried about the sudden convergence of “options to consider and actions to take,” just amazed at how quickly they’ve arrived.

Puschkinia libanotica (Stardrift) are blooming now. Last year (and previous years), they first blossomed on April 23rd, or later.

I think the climate changes have me most unsettled. The virus is, of course, still raging. I’m mindful of the great suffering it’s causing in South America and elsewhere, and that cases are once again rising in my country due to negligence, but the vaccination numbers are also rising and we know how to prevent infection if we choose.

We cannot, though, alter the climate changes; that time is long past. There is no protocol individuals can follow to bring down rising temperatures, or aid other species in their seasonal and necessary migrations, or nesting, or daily food procurement (beyond faithfully maintaining the feeders for the little few who visit us here). Today, on April 6th, the bit of lawn we still have is green and in need of cutting, but the dandelions that provide nectar to many have not yet risen and bloomed. Time really does seem out of joint. It’s about 20 degrees warmer than what we used to call “normal.” We’re not sure when to begin working in the gardens, though we’ll probably clear their edges of grass and weeds this weekend. I don’t want to compact their soil by treading around within their borders…yet.

For the past several years, we’ve had snow covering the ground in early April, and snowstorms as late as April 27, so we have no idea if this warmth will last or be overtaken by frost and snow, which would be devastating to the current green everywhere and to our fellow creatures migrating, nesting, and now trying to survive in a world that does not match their instinctive triggers and responses.

There are no easy answers; there never were. There’s not one right action or path to follow in the labyrinth our current world has become. But out there on the trail, I can see an old man slowly walking his old dog on the rain-washed and sun-drenched trail, smelling of spring’s emergent life, whether its presence is “normal” or not. Peace exudes from their partnership.

The man waits calmly whenever the dog pauses to sniff or regather his strength. The dog stands in place when the man stops to admire the view or take a deep breath. A cyclist slows to honor their space and then sails on across the bridge, enjoying her day, the gift of its warmth and the saturation of color after winter’s monochromatic persistence…Observing these interactions as I fret about what’s to come, reminds me that if the time is out of joint, I can let it go and enter the flow as it is, focusing on this moment and the next, the companions who fill it with meaning, the creativity it engenders, and the gratitude it always deserves.

I actually was not thrilled to come upon Murphy lounging on this plant, but he has been a bit listless, missing Fergus. When our 4-leggeds’ ashes are returned to us, some are put in a shared container we keep with us, and the rest are scattered around the perimeter of Full Moon Cottage…but Fergus spent his first year alone outside and never wanted to exit his forever safe home again, so instead of walking the perimeter with his ashes, I placed a few in the houseplants he loved to play with, and I wondered if Murphy, who has never napped on a houseplant before, sensed and felt closer to Fergus here. At any rate, as you can see, he was unfazed by my response, so I left him to it. It seemed to heal his spirit a bit.

Peace to your week.

© Copyright of all visual and written materials on The Daily Round belongs solely to Catherine M. O’Meara, 2011-Present. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited, without the author’s written approval. No one is authorized to use Catherine O’Meara’s copyrighted material for material gain without the author’s engagement and written permission. All other visual, written, and linked materials are credited to their authors. Thank you, and gentle peace.

10 thoughts on “When the Time is Out of Joint

  1. Thank you for putting into wonderful words how I think & feel today—Like we’re straddling 2 worlds. Blessings to you, Kitty, for getting your followers through this past year. Carol

  2. Oh, Carol, how kind of you. My readers have offered a lot of support to me, too.

    I’m glad this post spoke to you. I hope we eventually settle on a version of the world where all are welcome, including those who fly, crawl, swim, use three or more legs, or are rooted in place. 😊

    Your comment really touched me; be safe and well, Carol! Gentle peace to you and your beloveds.

  3. Not much different here in Croatia and I live on a tiny island in the Adriatic Sea. Intuitively I knew not to put out the seedlings from the greenhouse just yet and sure enough, we had a arctic blast yesterday and all night, it even snowed on the coastline. This is the mediterreanean, by this time of year we are normally basking in the sun and our gardens are full of new plants. Normally it would be about 20C this time of year, last night it went down to 2C. I also didn’t put away my winter clothes, I just knew they would be needed. I believe we had a magnetic pole shift and we are now 2 months behind in season changes. It’s been that way for 3 yrs now here that normally I can plant outside by April 1st directly into the ground, yet here we are sowing seeds in the greenhouse knowing they won’t be able to get outside until May. Buddha said the only thing that is sure is “change”. It’s about learning to adapt and expect change in nature and everything that evolves around it.

  4. Also, global warming is a myth. We are going into a mini ice age, at least those scientists that are not bought are claiming this to be the case. It will take the ocean current from Florida to stop completely and we enter right away. I can’t remember the proper name for that but we are experiencing some of the coldest winters here. Sure, it gets hot in the summer, but the winters are very cold.

    1. Hello, Ines, and thank you for your responses. I love hearing from readers around the world. These comments widen my perspective and insights. It sounds like your intuition and intelligence have been helpful in informing your Earth-tending.

      As for the causes of our climate shifts, I defer to climatologists. The causes are not my area of expertise, but I believe humans have made choices that have contributed to these shifts. The camera needs to be pulled way back to study the changes and all the ensuing–and erratic–results. I try not to extrapolate too much from my tiny experience, but I certainly note the changes here and am concerned.

      I agree that stasis is transitory, except when it comes to love. For me, love has a lot to do with how life on Earth flows and endures, or not, and how we adapt, or not.

      Thank you again for visiting, Ines! Be safe and well, and gentle peace to you.

    1. Oh, how kind of you, Veronilda! My husband studied Biology and was a science professor, so you can guess we are happy to read of your studies and wish you great success! I hold the people of Brazil in my heart, knowing there is great loss from the virus. Be well and safe, my friend. I am overjoyed you are in the world, too! xoxoxo Gentle Peace, Kitty

  5. You have me in tears thinking of Murphy connecting with his beloved Fergus. Animals are incredible for sure and have far more senses than us. An old wolf of mine once carried her deceased friend’s collar around for a year, even sleeping with it between her paws.
    I love those frosted trees but agree that climate change is here and very real now. We had sleet yesterday! Each year is different here too now and I have no idea when the last frost may descend.
    Your poor fences though! Lovely to hear how busy you and Philip are. Love and hugs to you all.xxx

  6. Oh, I love the story about your wolf. I think our 4-leggeds can become deeply attached; one of my little cats, Tessy, was much younger than her sister, Sally, to whom we were giving subcutaneous injections for a few years till her kidneys really couldn’t handle any more…within months of her death, Tessy had stopped eating and self-cleaning and developed a kind of dementia. There wasn’t any doubt she just couldn’t accept life without Sally. It was heartbreaking.

    Only one night in the coming forecast (so far) is below freezing. I’ll cover the little magnolia buds and pray everyone else makes it. 🙂 Gardening in the time of climate change. Sigh.

    Thank you for your kind comments; you always teach me something new. xoxoxo

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