It's a little bit hard to lose that hour. You don't want to let it go without acknowledging its loss, without marking the inconvenience of its passing. I did my best this weekend to savor what I could of the last, sweet indulgence of a solid hour that is going away too soon, and not returning for far too long. Thought about how much I love finding small corners of time to squander without guilt. Ah.
Took a walk to Whole Foods this weekend, through the upscale old neighborhood where I live vicariously on the fringey-edge. Found reminders that this is March, the month of transition from dark to light. My mother died in March thirty years ago, the age I am right now, and this year I am thinking of her almost constantly. I found daphne and bleeding hearts and lily of the valley, all small remembrances of an artist and gardener who loved spring and its vivid promise.
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