As I wake up this morning with the harsh beeps of the phone alarm, I notice that time has changed. Even though the clockface says 6 am, it’s not. 6 am morning last week is 6 am night today here in New York.
The river is inky black outside, the lights are still twinkling on the bank, the boats that are criss-crossing the river are sparkling on the dark water like jewels.
The morning ferry is one of the boats that is crossing the river, distinct by its two rows of jewel-like lights that I’ve come to know like a diamond-studded brooch on black silk.
The ferry doesn’t start until morning. So is it morning already?
Continue reading Time
I have always thought that there is nothing very remarkable about afternoons. Poets write about dawn, about dusk, about starry nights but rarely will you find an entire eulogy dedicated to an afternoon.
Afternoon is regarded as one long, nondescript chunk of time between noon and night in the English language occasionally feebly divided up by such epithets as late afternoon or early afternoon as though there is little sense in dividing up a time that’s already so bereft of uniqueness in the English-speaking world. Afternoon merely joins the morning with the night hanging in there like a modest conjunction in between two far more interesting parts of speech strung together into a day. Continue reading A weekday afternoon
The clock on the dresser said 8 am. I had woken up. I was just about to move myself out of bed (and perhaps even make myself a cup of tea). I was almost at the brink of thinking up some ideas to write on. Maybe even make breakfast.
I was just about to place my present at the right moment in the scale of my life between the blank that came right after I went to bed last night and this morning when I rose out of the foggy depths of sleep.
Time was supposed to pass slowly because it was Sunday. Continue reading Daylight Saving Time ends today