Dear Daylight Savings Time,
You get a bad rap. People hate you. They complain about losing an hour of sleep when you come back to town. They complain about how tired and sluggish they feel for days afterward.
I am not one of those people. I welcome you with wide-open arms. I gladly forfeit one short hour of sleep if it means I get to drive home with the sun on my face, and - more importantly - enjoy hours of daylight after a day of slaving for the man in my sunless cube.
Your arrival means that spring is here and that summer is not far behind. You are the harbinger of blue skies, blooming flowers, warm breezes, hot sunshine, birds singing, waving green grass, sandals, swimsuits, short sleeves, no outerwear. My frostbitten heart sings with joy when I the first whispers of your return.
So welcome back, DST! It’s nice to see you earlier than last year. I encourage you to hurry back sooner each year until you bump into that dastardly Fall-back Saturday and kick his miserable, lazy behind into next week. Or last year. Something like that.