Daylight Savings Time: Who’s looking forward to those long Spanish seeming evenings where the between-the-buildings shadows of New York seem ever-lengthening and where you move through the air and it is no hotter or cooler than your skin, where any breeze feels like rosé… um. Me. that’s who.
In the meantime, just as this 1931 hit from the High Hatters says:
There ought to be a moonlight saving time
so I could love that boy of mine
until the birdies wake and chime
Good morning!
Little by little the bird feathers its nest, and object by heart burnished object we surround ourselves with lovely necessities of memory and function. It is these things that make a silly Apartment a Home or a silly Wednesday an Occasion.
Whether my nest is an old farmhouse, a sixth floor tenement walk up, or a brownstone basement... whether I share it with family, vagabonds, women of heart and mind, or a little brown cat and a sweet ginger banjo, my principal joy is filling it with light and laughter (and corralling).
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One thought on “Savings Time”
why, it is just about time for all the hihat ladies to leave their hives to sing and waggle-dance and imbibe the nectars… within a three mile radius of their home.
Feather By Feather 
why, it is just about time for all the hihat ladies to leave their hives to sing and waggle-dance and imbibe the nectars… within a three mile radius of their home.