What the Clocks Say When the time changes each autumn, it is said that I have gained an hour, and when I wake at my regular time, say eight o’clock, I see that it is now seven instead. Miracles of miracles. They were right. I have indeed gained an hour. What should I do with that hour, I wonder. I decide to put it in my pocket and save it for a rainy day, when I need an extra hour of rain, or perhaps when I am late, I can pull it out of my pocket and actually be on time. Or even (thinking darkly) when I am on my death bed I can use it to have one more hour of life. Or I can squander it one day when the fishing is good for one more hour of good fishing. Then one day a black cloud appears. Darker than night. Darker than black. Dark as the eyes of my long lost love: I once loaned you an extra hour. Now I have come to take it back. It is not yours to keep. If you have already used it, I will take it back anyway. And you will lose an hour of your life for your arrogance. Did you really think I was going to give you an extra hour to keep forever or even a second? That was the last thing he heard.
