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.