Today’s offering is inspired by Corngoblin, who recently used climate as a metaphor for displacement
“It wasn’t the moving that bothered me.” She raised the white ceramic mug from the table, lifted it to her lips, drank. Her eyes fixed on me as she swallowed, set the mug down. “I’ve lost track at the number of times I’ve moved since college. And I’ve been all over, from east to west coasts, north and south. Good winters and rough winters, mountains and plains, rural and country. ”
“And you never had trouble sleeping before?” The waitress arrived with my berry-capped waffle, her omelet of many colors. She waits until the waitress leaves before continuing.
“It was geography, an aspect I hadn’t encountered before. We’re what, an hour east of the time zone boundary?”
Not blessed with heightened chronological instincts, I nod, hoping she’s right, before I start working on my waffle.
“Ever notice how, in the winter, the sun never comes up in the morning?”
She waits as I chew. Swallow. “Thought you said winter doesn’t bother you.”
“It didn’t, until I came here.” She points behind me, I’m not sure to where. “This is the first time I’ve ever lived on the western side of a time zone. All the places I’ve been before — Hartford, Chicago, Colorada, New Orleans, Vegas — every one of those places, the time zone may have been different but they were all on the eastern side of their time zone. Over thirty years, I got used to seeing the sun in the morning. But the further away you get from a time zone’s eastern border, the later the sun comes up.”
“Huh.” I was genuinely intrigued, pointed at her with a fork dripping butter and berry juice. “So that also means the sun stays out later in the day, right?”
For the first time that morning, I saw her eyes smile behind her big round glasses. “I’m just beginning to appreciate that, realize how I always hated driving from work in the winter. And I remember thinking last June, how cool it was to have sunset around 10 in the evening. I didn’t make the connection until the other day when I got up, started grumbling about it still being dark — and then it hit me.”
“Sounds like you’re OK with it.”
She shrugged. “Not much I can do about it. Except wait for the sun to arrive in winter.” And started cutting into her omelet.
The Diligent Dilettante 