Daylight Slaving

Every day keeps getting shorter
As my sleeves start getting longer

My love for autumn is well known (and if I was better about posting, it'd probably be well "published" too), and the lyrics to Daylight Slaving remind me of fall, but I was singing them a bit again today; as I walked out of the office, a few lasting rays of light were spilling around the Pru and stretching up Stuart Street. Chilled, I zipped up and ran over to the train station.
This would have seemed all very normal had it not been 6:30 pm.
It didn't look like a late winter night, it looked, and felt, like a late autumn afternoon.

We can play with the clocks all we like, but there are a few things we can't change. We can't change the number of hours the sun hangs above us, nor its peak position, only the slow orbital churn will accomplish this; we can't change having to get up in the morning, or going to bed to greet the next day; what we can do is "change the time", a human contraption that makes us think something good is happening.

Well, it may "seem" good, but that doesn't mean it is, and it doesn't mean it isn't cold.