What an odd mood I am in – terribly morose and withdrawn. My oldest friend, Tracy, helpfully pointed out to me today that the seasons are changing and I always get this way during seasonal changes. She should know, as we’ve gone through this 4 times a year for the past 30 years. I don’t know why I can’t seem to remember it, but that’s what friends are for. To remind you of your personality quirks.
Now the governmental powers that be have seen fit to move Daylight Savings Time up by a full 3 weeks. The first week of springing forward always throws me off, with the seemingly neverending daylight. Daylight until 8pm in March is just wrong, in my opinion. On the other hand, I love it when the clocks move back to their proper time in the fall. And have you heard? They’ve moved that one also, so now DST won’t end until sometime in November.
We’d better hope the gods don’t take revenge on us humans for having the audacity to mess with the fabric of time.
I’m a big fan of long, dark, winter nights that start at 5pm and end the next morning at 8am. Although I can get cranky about too-long winters, and day after day of subfreezing temperatures, I feel less guilty about spending hours inside with a book in the winter. Warm weather seems to demand something from you – like yard work or remodeling jobs or some kind of event that requires a bathing suit.
Oh, I’ll enjoy it when it’s actually time to dig in the soil again, and it’s always remarkable to see the tulips push up through the ground after such harsh, cold winter weather – like they’re doing now. A miracle, this rebirthing business. It’s March, and tomorrow, as is my yearly routine, I will cut some forsythia branches to bring into the house, where they will be forced to bloom a little early. And about the time they start to bloom, my seasonal melancholoy will have passed, and I’ll be ready to face the longer days again.
And the cycle goes on.