For those of us who are not, by nature, early risers, it’s unclear whether the end of daylight savings time is friend or foe. In the morning, we make it a point of honor not to rise in the dark. The end of daylight savings time foils our resolve, for daybreak arrives too early and wakes us up.In the afternoon, the day’s end comes so quickly we’ve hardly settled to a nap, when, opening one eye, we see the sun has slipped behind the ridge. The sunset blooming on the clouds is fading fast, three quarters of our plans for the day remain undone, and the lights must be lit or we’ll stumble down the hallway in the dark.
We console ourselves with a glass of wine, mourning the pile of leaves in the driveway that must wait until tomorrow. We watch as purple clouds spread across the sky. The ridge goes black, and an orange reminiscence of the sun sulks beyond a fringe of trees. The last traces of daylight rail against their fading, but fade they must: it’s after five o’clock, and it’s November.
This captures perfectly the adjustment we have to make at this time of year! We do feel like there is somehow less time available now. This is a nice timely essay - thanks for posting.
ReplyDeleteIt's true - the shorter days can take us by surprise now - I like the way you deal with it!
ReplyDeleteLoved the blog on BST ending, as called we call it here in the "Empire". For me, it so well conjured up this time of year. Though no ridges, as yours, here but do have surreal early misty mornings and orange twilights. I am nearly always up before dawn, as Pavlov's alarm clock and, on Saturday, was still out walking in the countryside well beyond sunset. Then, what, at lit times, would seem friendly fields and glorious views became a worringly exposed place to be even though not that far from the nearest farmhouse. The fear of losing light enough to read the map and find the footpaths put some panic and pace into my step until I came to the familiar path I knew. Even there we were still jumped out of our skin by a couple of startled pheasants flying out of the undergrowth (they have a blog saying the same thing!)and two horseriders who silently rode up to us from behind. How calm and reassuring to be back at the car and just listen to the twit-twowoo of a tawney from the apparent safety of pub lights.
ReplyDeleteHi, Jackie: Welcome to the blog--and thank you SO much for offering up this lovely description of time of year on your side of the Atlantic. I'll be on the look-out for the pheasants' blog . . .
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