my kind of ilk

by underswansea


I was surprised to sleep in this morning.

Shit, an hour wasted, not that I do much. An hour either way doesn’t mean bugger all with my schedule. It was only when I noticed the clock in the truck was wrong that it dawned on me.

It’s daylight savings time, I said to Lisa.

She said, Yeah I know.

We sprung ahead.

Yes, she said.

We headed for breakfast up the creek. The snow was soft, wet and deep. Willow was extra full of piss and vinegar. The walking was the shits so we threw snowballs for her. She bounded into the deep stuff and retrieved, then barked for the next one.

The sun came out momentarily, here and there, making the birds sing. They sounded a chorus of a hundred strong. I strained my eyes to see them, but they stayed hidden in the spruce. It’s when they get after each other they will forget their inhibitions.

As I get older, my intentions grow, but I seem to get less accomplished.

Where is the man who used to work from dusk to dawn and often longer?

Gone, I figure. Now I spend time wrestling with what to do with an extra hour of daylight.