Since late autumn, I've been noticing a sharp increase in the number of night owls in my surroundings. Children—almost every one of them—have become owlish.
Here are some December impressions. Early morning, the rustle of rain outside. Another young owl was dragged down the stairs of the building – from the fourth floor, to a pitch-black roar, accompanied by a parental “woof! Boo-boo-boo, woof!” Early in the morning, before dawn, they were woken up, lined up, and driven through the darkness and rain to kindergarten. Well, at least the entire building woke up without an alarm clock. The owl was dragged down the street – and the other entrances of the five-story building already had something to wake up to…
Arriving at the office, I see a gloomy crowd all around. Some are struggling with the remnants of their own sleep, others are mulling over the aftermath of their battle with their own children over the topic of “Get up!!!” Outside, the inky darkness slowly dissipates. Dawn breaks with the first office tea.
Even I'm starting to feel a bit like a night owl: five minutes before the alarm, I can't wake up, only to its brutal ringing and my teeth-gnashing. And then I'll hear the little owl's screeches through the rustling winter rain and peer out the dark window (“Bring back the snowy winter!”)… And… what should I do?! Shake it up with coffee? It won't help. For natural morning people, coffee only helps them fall asleep.
What a strange thing. Or is it just the planets' astrological alignment? Or did the fiery Hillary just say something again? For owls to proliferate like this in Russia, the State Department couldn't have been behind it…
No, it's not the planets playing astrological games, nor is it the State Department hatching a global conspiracy. Remember how, for all those long years of our life, following a foreign custom—adjusting the clocks back and forth depending on the onset of spring/autumn—a fair number of dear Russians resented this servility to the West, even in such an intimate matter as personal wake-up and bedtime. So, our supreme government, our president, who responded to the people's cries—may he live, be safe, and sound—has abolished the change of clocks to daylight saving time.
It was then that it became clear that it is not the will of the government that controls our biorhythms, but the red sun.
It's not fitting for the sun to roll out into the sky in the dead of winter at the same hours as in summer. But we, sinful humans, tender and weak, both before our era and throughout our era, have awakened with the sun and gone to bed with the evening glow.
The people, of course, will scratch their heads, go out into the square, fall on their knees, and say: “Good people, although I am great and mighty, and generally a God-bearing people, I was wrong. Turn everything back, government, let the alarm clock ring an hour later in winter!”
I believe it's possible for an owl to become a lark. Day after day, the spring of light has crept up, the sun begins its journey across the sky earlier and earlier each morning. And this flock of newly converted owls is, of course, dissipating. The boy who spent all of November, December, and January yowling on the stairs, dragged to kindergarten, has already lost the habit of his former suffering. He pesters his mom and dad again with the eternal “why”—morning for him comes ever closer to sunrise, no longer having to hide from his mother under the duvet, clinging to the remnants of sleep. And by breakfast, he appears washed and clear-eyed, ready for work, struggle, study, and other infantile pastimes.
Russia's highest intellectuals are once again pondering the problem. It seems the prophecy made in March 2010 by one of our colleagues, Oleg Chernozemov, is destined to come true: “I think that even if they decide to experiment for a while, they'll eventually return to changing the clocks.”
Long live experience, son of mistakes!