I look forward to Daylight Saving Time as if its inception is a major holiday. It ought to be, really. The sudden return of sunlight into the world created by the shifting of the hours is vastly more dramatic than the even balancing of the day signaled by the Spring Equinox yet to come.
Somehow, it snuck up on me this year. I was up too late Saturday night, only to realize the changing of the clocks meant I’d actually stayed up an hour later even than that. A wrinkle in time. Oops.
So predictably, Sunday dawned full of aches and a sense of being off-kilter, and it took longer than usual for my coffee to work. I eased into wakefulness awkwardly. But the temperatures rose as the weather forecast had promised, and The Mighty Husband Man and I went for a skate wrapped in glorious sunshine and blue skies. Sure, there was still snow in the street. We skated around it, knowing it wouldn’t last the day.
The real gift, though, came later, when I walked outside at 6:45 pm into a gloriously still-sunny evening. It felt like someone had bundled up a little bit of summer-to-come and sent it backwards in time like a prophecy of good tidings. We will survive this winter. The sun is coming back.
Today the dawn comes later than I expect it. It feels earlier than it is, and my body is slow and sluggish in making the transition. But I remember this new gift of sunshine returned, and my heart lightens. March may be fickle, but daylight is an unbreakable promise.