Daylight Savings Time
Millie Donovan did a most extraordinary thing one damp autumn evening.
While the dead leaves danced on the rotten wind howling outside her storm windows, Millie went through her immaculately clean, tastefully decorated bungalow and set every clock, including the walnut grandfather clock in the family room, the miniature clock above the kitchen sink that sounded the song of one of the birds of North America every quarter hour, the black plastic kitty cat clock with oscillating eyes in the spare bedroom, and last but certainly not least the orange-glowing flip clock on the nightstand beside her bed, one hour behind.
What the heck is daylight savings time, she asked herself, wasn’t noon, when the sun’s directly overhead, a fact?
Millie reminded herself there was something she was supposed to do, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember what it was. She shoulda tied a string around her finger. How did that come to be the symbol for trying to remember som