If I am not attentive, the days pass too quickly for certain things and others pass like a snail. Yesterday, I realized a second week had passed, both of which I spent working on a watercolor. I looked at the painting, reflected on its imagery, understood the work needs patience and clarity as I paint, but how is it only half done?? Could it now take me more than two weeks to complete an intricate composition where a few years ago I could compete one of the same size within a two-week period. Maybe I paint slower than I did!
Then, late yesterday afternoon, as I sat on the den sofa and stuffed myself with a large salad, I pondered over my complete inactivity. I hate doing anything that is good for me, like exercise, yet when I look in the mirror I know I need to force myself to begin again if I do not want to get heavier and heavier. The humidity in the hot Florida sun is overwhelming for me each summer. My bike seat needs fixing so I use it as an excuse not to bicycle even in the evening when the temperature and humidity become acceptably lower. Immediately, without much more thought, I switch my thinking and defend my inactivity that summer is the cause and that it always seems to go on indefinitely. Even in October, I think November will never arrive when the temperate days and nights beckon me out.
Times passage is always elusive to me, even in my aging. I know I am sixty-five, yet I don’t feel I have lived that long, yet I remember too many birthdays that I have had! They prove how old I am, yet I feel I feel the passage of those years and the question of time passing too quickly as I paint are similar. So then, shouldn’t I feel that the passage of summer have the same rate or is the its passing governed by how I think??