Upon awakening this morning, we found that some intruder into the affairs of man had advanced the official timepieces ahead by a full hour, declaring the sun was now rising an hour earlier, thus shifting us from winter to summer time with the spring solstice being still a full week and a half away. Even worse we found that we had been deprived of a full hour of most valuable sleeping time, exchanging the same for a mere sixty minutes of evening light.
The original concept of Daylight Savings was sold to a patriotic public seeking to conserve energy and enacted to satisfy the desires of transportation and broadcast moguls. They said the temporary investment of an hour would pay off in golden sun and the hour would come back to us with the approach of winter. Traditionalists warn that in what little time we have take all that you can, for time does not last, and time is no time when time is past.
Everything we can comprehend is carried upon the never ending river of time, a mighty force flowing in an endless circle, bearing a welcome renewing of anticipation and hope.
Time has its own dimensions which we cannot change, all we can do is live by it, divide and measure, and note the steadfast passage of seasons, the tidal rhythms and the predictable movements of the sun and stars.
Time surrounds us, ticking into history. It’s dependable, but like an armful of live eels, impossible to hold. It can measure a terrifying eternity between heartbeats or our distance from a star. It is everywhere, but always disappearing. It can never be saved.