Oh my God- I just looked out the window and saw a mottled patch of grass peeking out from below the arctic tundra that is our front yard. Grass! Brown. Hmmph.
The markers of the passage of time can get all rearranged, so that you think that up is down. If you've ever had a kid and been supremely sleep-deprived, you know this in your bones. You can perform amazing feats in your sleep and not remember having done them in the morning. You can also be totally awake in the middle of the night and yet unable in the least to rise to any challenge whatsoever.
There are times when you are sicker than a dog and you think Oh Lordy, this is it. Take me now! and then something that is so feather-light lifts up from you and you have the first lucid thought in days, or your hand doesn't ache when you reach for a sip of water.
Very tricky business, this time thing. It reminds me of this William Carlos Williams poem:
so much depends
a red wheel
glazed with rain
beside the white
That is to say, everything depends on everything. Vividly. Essentially. Time depends on who you are at an instant; on how the spheres and orbits are calibrated-- or are they focused like a lens? Shoot! Blink. It is past. Up can be up and down can be up. Or, as my son agrees: All things can be white. All things can be red. They can also be wed or right. Such is time.