Turning Back the Clock This is not to say that I don’t appreciate all the conveniences I have as a result of you. But sometimes you really do cross the line. Like today, when I awoke to find that you had predictably taken into account that extra hour I was given. And as a result, I slept through it. In other years, when I turned back the clock myself I anticipated that hour throughout the day; waiting for the gap that I wanted to claim as my own. Removing the bowl of pulp and seeds from the refrigerator and separating the two. Roasting and salting pumpkin seeds because it seems like a fall thing to do even though no one really seems to enjoy them. Or walking the dogs in the shuffle of leaves lamenting not putting sunscreen on my lips as I felt the first tingle of a fever blister. Or sitting on the back porch at the early dusk with a drink by my side, a book in my lap, head tilted back, thinking about how to write a poem about squirrels going home at the end of the day. But because you had already accounted for that hour as I slept, today will be like any other.