Wow. It’s like summer all of a sudden. Except for the frigid temperature and snow and calendar. With the time change, it’s light until after 8 p.m. Mike worked until 7:30 tonight, fooled by the light into thinking it was much earlier than it was.
That’s what happens in the summer: we just go and go and go because it’s light all the time, and as the saying goes, we’ve got to make hay while the sun shines. On one of my father’s early visits to Alaska we had to drag him out of a creek where he was panning for gold until nearly 11 p.m. “But the sun’s still up!” he said.
Of course it’s darker in the morning. I’m still getting up in the dark, so I can cling to that while I make the seasonal transition. I’m not complaining, really. I love summer. But the passage of time is hard. I think being tied so closely to the seasons makes the passage of time more apparent. On one hand, that’s good, because we see it moving and are aware of it, rather than having it slip by unnoticed. But on the other hand, being so aware of it makes me mourn the time as it rolls by.
Yep, I’m dragging my feet to slow those circles down. Anyone know where that comes from?