Excepting February Alone

Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone;
It has twenty-eight days' time
And, in Leap Years, twenty-nine.

I'm not ready for February to be over.  It passed much too quickly for me, and - although it seemed to be very full - I didn't do all the things I wanted to get done this month.  (Of course, my logical mind tells me that February is supposed to done more quickly.  After all, it has only 28 days.)

I can remember as a child thinking that a month was a very long time.  If someone told me that I had to wait a month until summer camp or Christmas or any other anticipated event, it seemed like  f o r e v e r .  Now, I can barely keep up enough to write the correct month and year when I fill out a form or write a check. 

As I approach my sixtieth birthday, I keep feeling like I want time to slow down.  I want to consciously live each day so that - at the end of each month - I can remember certain activities and experiences with some degree of clarity.  I don't like my month to seem like a 28-day blur.  (Or a 30-day or 31-day blur.)

I am reminded of a quotation that currently appears at the bottom of each of  my sister's emails:

I wish that life should not be cheap, but sacred.  I wish the days to be as centuries, loaded, fragrant.  (Ralph Waldo Emerson)