Another year where the author was wrong about daylight savings time
Another year where the author was wrong about daylight savings time
days
now shorter than your mother
fade in fade
out with nothing at the center
a highway in a clover all
entries and
exits and
Phoenix
who are you to hold —
eye of our storm promise
you’ll archive all the moments
in time’s blasted bardo
In time lost and leapt
surely there was peace
surely the thrust of spinning
put us in lockstep
for an evening
for a moment
I’m thinking a lot about collective action and unity this week. News of tragedy and hurt, along with processing with friends and peers continue to challenge, form and reform me.
Despite everything else, I started writing about the days being short, something small enough for me to grasp. Somehow, even that allowed for some sort of collectivity to emerge. For the last three years, I have wrongly said something to the effect of “Did you know that Daylight Savings Time has ended? It’s a national order!” and every time I have been wrong. The bill would stall, it would only apply to one state, etc. Funnily, according to the bill, we would stay in DST year-round rather than standard time. Ironic, no?
Although Daylight Savings and Standard Time are sort of an illusion, I found myself thinking about the language we use to describe them — losing an hour, gaining an hour — and thinking about those places that do neither. What is the role of those who hold? This poem is an example of emergence when thoughts pave the way to feeling.
Despite the day length, got out for a great little hike with friends last weekend. Beautiful!
Thanks for reading.