In the introduction to their Summer:  A Spiritual Biography, editors Gary Schmidt and Susan Felch note that, during the summer, time becomes a "pool."  That is, amidst the lengthy days, warmer temperatures, and a languid sense of inactivity, we do not, indeed, in one sense, we cannot, measure time as we do during the colder months.  In a way, they suggest, in the summer we are living beyond time, beyond the other seasons' diurnal constraints, the tensions of waking up and going to sleep in darkness day after day, of racing frantically to complete a task before nightfall.  We do not need to:  time seems to transcend itself.

     Many times in my mountain backpacks, I have come upon remote alpine meadows, quiescent pockets of verdancy, grass and tundra covered with wildflowers, streams running lazily, sun shining continuously.  It's a vision of near complete equanimity and bliss.  Time really does seem to stand still.
     Imagine if we could live beyond time, all the time, ensconced in a meadow for eternity.  What would life be like?