I’ve been told I have a poor concept of time. It’s true. I am lousy at time management. There are only 24 hours in a day. Always have been. Always will be. Yet, I seem to think I can get 48 hours-worth done in a day.
I think I can tend my pretty flowers (these are not mine, but those of a fellow gardener who also packs too much into each day), ride my horse, clean my house, do my bookwork and plan the next event all without a hitch.
Then I pout and feel sorry for myself when I fall short.
But if only I would remember that floating down the river in June and July, while pleasant, is not nearly as rewarding as when the days get shorter, the evenings cooler. Then the young raccoons play hide and seek with me as they forage for their evening snack.
The water fowl tease me by dipping in and out of the water around me.
If only I would remember to count my blessings and remember that as the days get shorter, my time gets freer. As the days get shorter my list of blessings gets longer. I am blessed with a muddy river that brings me peace and solitude. A time away from the phone, the computer, the weeds, and my ever present clock.