We're never getting rid of Daylight Saving Time.
And that's good.
Fie to all who want the sun to fade at 8 at summer's peak. I'd be fine with ending the switch, as long as we keep that glorious ration of golden evenings in June. But even if we hate to fall back, we must admit it brings out something special in the Minnesota heart: bleak stoic fatalism.
Somehow, we deserve this.
You always think: "Now begins the deep, dark time. A time when the gloom gathers its cloak about our heads a'fore the strike of 5, and the night whistles down, a silent crow with eyes of ice."
OK, I'm not a poet. But that's how we see it up here: the start of the long sentence. The end of DST is like a cell door clanging shut, and you call to the jailer: "I want to see the warden of spring!" And he says, "I thought this was like a crow, and now it's prison doors? You're mixing your metaphors." And you say, "They're analogies!"
I'm drifting off the topic, but you get the idea. We tell ourselves that we can get past the harsh start, amuse ourselves with holidays, wait for the day when the days start to get longer. But we never really notice the extra minutes, even as they accumulate. Come spring, we notice that the days are not only longer, but better, and when DST kicks in, it's like getting a free car right after you got a free house.
This year is different, sure. We went straight to peevish early winter during a time when we should have been savoring the last days of Joyful Apple and Tree Admiration Time. We've been whipped into the winter mind-set ahead of schedule.