Messing with the clocks simply draws attention to the arbitrary nature of our scheduled lives
The clocks changed today, which means the Time of Great Confusion is upon us. “What’s the rhyme?” puzzle my smartest friends. “Fall forwards… or back? Spring back? That doesn’t rhyme.” They picture themselves stumbling, falling forwards, or springing back like fresh sponge. They picture the South African rugby team, the Springboks. No one knows. It’s worse than the rhyme about how many days are in each month, which is longer than the Great Wall of China and implodes in a subclause about leap years. That threw me last month and now this.
It’s hard enough trying to keep track of Easter. That occurs on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox. In case you’re lost that also means today. Happy Easter. At least the chocolate eggs make it worthwhile – and it’s hard to be mad at an equinox. Especially this one, which marked the start of spring. Even more than an equinox, I love a solstice. I’ll come back to that. Or do I mean forward?
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