The daffodils in the front yard are bright yellow. The rosebud trees down the street are in full bloom. The flowers of the tulip poplars dot the neighborhood. I don’t need a jacket as I step outside and my husband is already complaining about tree pollen allergies. I check the calendar to make sure: yes, it is only March first. What is going on?
I could ask the same question of myself as my own patterns are out of whack. Recently retired, happily not working, I haven’t found a rhythm yet. It worries me. Each evening I vow that I will be showered and dressed before 10, yet most days you will find me reading the paper and solving the crossword puzzle in my pajamas until well after 10. Once I am dressed, I wonder what book to read next, or should I work in my sketch journal, or perhaps I should exercise or what fun thing could I make for dinner. After 36 years in the working world, 21 one of those as a teacher, I have no set schedule, no clear goals – no matter how many lists I make.
There is nothing I can do about the patterns of nature this year, so I go out on the deck and sit on the steps (too early to bring out the deck furniture?) and soak it in. I listen to the excited birds, turn my face towards the sun, look up at the purple buds sprouting on our massive Silver Maple tree and just enjoy it. Perhaps it’s okay to just enjoy my own disrupted rhythm, to go with the flow and see where it takes me. At least for now.