Spring forward.

Welp. It’s that time again. Someone, somehow, between the wee hours of tonight and tomorrow morning, creeps in and steals an hour from us. I don’t know why a measly hour bothers me after losing an entire year, but I’m already mourning its loss.

I would have known, without the reminder, that spring is sprung. Yes, it’s wintry outside. But the hens always know the score and they’ve announced that winter is over. Last summer’s molt and the short winter days are forgotten and the girls are busy.

Yesterday they spent the better part of what will soon be a lost hour poking around for the most delectable post-rain menu of bugs and worms. Time spent well and wisely, and much to show for it:


What do I have to show for that hour, or, for that matter, the cavernous, quiet year that went before? Hmmmm, maybe better not to think about that. Let’s say it was sort of like a very long molt followed by some short winter days. Let’s call it…resting. It seems to have worked for the hens.


The time change is a good reminder that we have an hour less and it’s time to make more of each and every one. Maybe even start thinking about flying the coop? Spring forward, indeed!

Setting my clock – and myself – forward – there’s a new season upon us!

About polloplayer

Empty nester searching for meaning of life through the occasional chicken epiphany.
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