From the ground up and the sky down, then, that set of school weeks stands in my memory as one of the strangest of seasons. Long, indeterminate days, as though each one was stretched by the wind blowing through it, yet not nearly enough time to follow everything.
—Ivan Doig, The Whistling Season
I came across this passage in Doig’s wry, witty novel of life on the Montana prairie, which I read and loved recently. His narrator, Paul, is talking about an odd winter/spring season, but I thought it could apply to quarantine just as well. Time seems to be moving differently these days; some hours and days feel very long, yet I look up and it’s Wednesday or (insert day here) again.
Does it feel to you like time is moving differently, in this strange season?
cakes, tea and dreams 
Yes, it does feel as if it’s moving differently. The speed of everything has changed — slowed down, like being in a holding pattern, except that the days almost shoot by on the calendar. It’s weird. Summer can’t come too soon. (Or actual Spring! That’d be nice and possibly comforting.)
Spring! It’s coming slowly here.
Here, too — and I’m sure we say that every year, but for Pete’s sake, we’ve had two snows this April (as has your area, too, right?) — there’s no need of that!!