I seldom think of my body as a well-oiled machine, but the sleep disruption brought about by one hour of “springing head” makes me wonder. We were dodging bullets in a war, jumping in cars to avoid being hit. According to the dreamscape, I was in Afghanistan, but the Iran war must have been the trigger. That and the strange new evening light.

Hopeful that it’s just a one-night readjustment I turn to the more important matter at hand. Our time change Sunday ushers in the season of light. How often at the end of summer do I kick myself for not enjoying it more, not being out in it every minute I can.

Outside-after-dinner, I call it. I saw folks enjoying it last evening, neighbors on bikes or on foot, working in a walk after supper but surprised by the sudden darkness. Though it was light till 7:30, spring twilights aren’t as long as summer ones.

Every year this time I’m reluctant to leave my winter cocoon. Aside from shoveling snow, there are few outdoor tasks in January and February. But March brings back the gardening to-dos. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed.

Still, we’re on the move. We’ve rounded the corner. The sun is on our side. We are once again in the season of light.

(Miniature daffodils are already blooming in the front garden.)