Time is a mirror, reflecting the ravages of ill-tempered experiences thrust onto a searing hot griddle made of broken promises.
Time is witness to drowning, dreams dashed against icebergs hidden beneath the cold water flowing through merciless veins.
Time is artificial, capable of warming us with an insulated web of softness or smothering us under an impenetrable anaerobic blanket.
And with those cheery images, I acknowledge this first day of Daylight Savings Time, 2017 edition, in the USA. Above the cold air outside my window, a grey sky peers down with a poker face; it is not menacing in the traditional sense, but it’s sneer suggests Mother Nature is having her fun with us, taunting us with her ability to exchange ice for fire and vice versa, regardless of the season.
