Measuring Time

I used to wear a watch every day (often in my sleep), and I needed a clock in my classroom. Time matters when you have only so many minutes before a class-ending bell.

Now I wear a watch only occasionally.

I am more likely to notice time by the light and temperature and arrivals and departures of seasons. 

Take today, for example. The crocus are up now in Abbo's Alley. They weren't up just a few days ago. I know because I looked for them. This is the time of transition from winter to spring, from fog and rain and ice and snow to blue skies and blooms. 

Soon it will be spring -- I will know its arrival by the first Odonate I see at the lake. The heart of summer arrives on the wings of Widow Skimmers and Slaty Skimmers, and fall means mature Autumn Meadowhawks and Shadow Darners.

When I hear others say there aren't enough hours in a day, I feel sorry for them. There are only 24 hours, and there will always be only 24 hours, no matter how much we wish otherwise. 

It isn't a question of hours; it's how they're spent.