I wonder what it must be like to be a tree, when daylight savings time happens. You still receive sun at the same time as you always have. It shines, it goes, for a little longer each day as the seasons wax and wane. But suddenly, one day, all the other parts of your cycle are off. You sense the yells and laughter of schoolchildren returning home on the bus an hour later. The old lady who makes sure you're well-watered brings her hose at peak sun instead of rising. And it's dark now, when your leaves breathe in the carbon of the mail-truck in the morning.
But the birds, the squirrels, the ants and cicadas— their rhythms are the same as they've always been. It's disorienting at first, but then you remember the years and the years and the years, and you remember this moment always comes each year, twice each year, and there is reassurance that this year, too, is passing just as well.