gold, I tell you

I am holding the idea of that extra hour tonight like a willy wonka golden ticket wrapped around a chocolate bar. I am thinking about that part in the story when it seems all hope is lost and then charlie finds fifty pence in the gutter and his mind runs wild with possibility. how he goes straight to the newspaper shop that sells sweets and cigars and buys one whipple-scrumptious fudgemallow delight and wolfs it down so fast the shopkeeper says hey sonny boy, slow down, you'll make yourself sick. I'm thinking about how he decides to buy one more candy bar, just because, even though he thinks all the golden tickets have already been found. I am of course thinking about the moment he unwraps that bar-- the slight crinkle of paper, that glimmer of gold. 

I no longer care about losing light. I now find the argument around daylight savings time cumbersome and pointless. I treat that extra hour like what it feels like: a whipple-scrumptious fudgemallow delight with a golden ticket inside.