Because I grew up in California, the state of superficial seasons (sun in January, gloom in June), Daylight Savings Time, that silly one hour we seem to lose and gain from our days in the fall and spring, has always provided me with the most physical, tangible signal of the shifting of seasons.
In September, fall back, early darkness is a signal to retreat indoors, to start baking and simmering chili on the stove—even if it’s still 70 degrees at dusk. Early sunsets prevent late afternoon runs, and mornings are cozy, grey, and cool.
And now, in March, a late day—a longer day, it seems—is an excuse to get outdoors, to enjoy sun and color and the stretched, extra-space feeling you get between 3 and 7 p.m.
Tomorrow, I’ll drive to work at 6 a.m. in pitch blackness, but for tonight at least, the day met the night oh so leisurely.
And, with spring forward, there’s always the anticipation of longer days to come—warmer weather, less layers, and relaxed muscles on sunset jogs. To spring: spring the noun and spring the verb, the latter being the sentiment I like to harness in this time switch. Springing forward.