Central Daylight Savings Time has struck again; and as in years prior, another hour has been taken from us.
Never mind that we’ll get it back in the fall.
It’s not the same.
I worry about that hour. Will it be okay? Where has it gone?
Maybe it’s with the other things gone from my home: one fuzzy blue slipper absent since the locally attended and suspiciously named International Chili Cook-Off, the mysterious disappearance of a 40-watt bulb from a living room lamp.
Or perhaps that hour’s gone the way of my often misplaced and then rediscovered faith in humanity and I will find it on the bus, perhaps in a stranger’s smile.
Either way, my concern over the disappearance of an hour of my life via government decree – as opposed to, say, the loss of an hour due to oversleeping or drunken misadventure – is nothing in comparison to the enjoyment of the extra hour of sunlight.
The snow is gone; the sun is out; and Minneapolis needs only the gully-washing rainstorm that will sweep the streets and lawns clean of the dirty, gritty reminders of the inconvenience of the last six months to bring on the glorious green of spring.
Nevertheless, it’s all a big head game, this Daylight Savings Time. The day’s as long – and as short – as it ever was.
Still. I wish my lost hour the best of luck, wherever it is and hope it remembers that spare time will always have a home with me.
Bettered by Feathers
1 hour ago