One of the central ideas behind these writings was to slow my daily life down just enough to take a quiet walk through nature and observe the earth as she came alive, mark the passage of her silver cousin through the night sky, marvel at the sly dance she does weaving through the ancient beings that live there
I started in a mild December, the late leaves were still falling, the last persimmons still sweetly bitter on the branch, as is their duty. January too was mild mostly, we only had to wait for Saint Valentine to deliver the arctic arrow through our chests
So then March is earthquakes, small ones, you know, little tembloritos. Don’t get me started on that. It’s the timequake that really threw me off
An hour makes a big difference if you’re carefully marking the changing of the season against an arbitrary pre-set time that just happens to be the seven o’clock when I leave work four days a week
I went from just catching the end of the sunset as I’m leaving, to having the damn thing still above the horizon. Not that I mind having the big guy around – he’s just coming on a little strong
Vonnegut’s Timequake was longer, ten years, but I kinda see what he meant