Day 147: Just as battle lines are drawn between political parties in an election year, the institution of Daylight Time separates modern Man into discrete and highly combative camps. I'm on the left with my fellow "morning people" who gladly exchange darker mornings for extended evening hours. I get up in the dark regardless of the season. My body's alarm clock is naturally set for pre-dawn. On the flip side, the autumn reversion to Standard Time invariably lowers a cloud of gloom over my head. Where did the lovely light go? Damn, I'd better get off the Mountain before it's too dark to see the trail. Is it bedtime yet? Homo sap is influenced by diurnal rhythms than he may care to admit; after all, we've supposedly cast aside the animal instincts which tell us to sleep longer in the winter, and to be most active during the long summer days. That said, the seasons exert pressures on us as well, and this morning's burden of snow shocked a vividly purple list of profanities from my lips when I threw back the curtains with plans for a nature walk in the forefront of my mind. As I stepped out to feed the birds, the chill cut through my jeans. I don't do cold as well as I did when I was younger. I beat a hasty retreat back to the blanketing warmth of a large, fat cat on my lap. Even as I write this, well past my lunchtime, the snow has not gone from the shadows and hollows of the yard. Daylight Time? What about Summer Time?
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