Monday, 31 March 2014

Clocks go Forward Again.

That horrible day when the clocks change, one fewer hour in the day but paradoxically the day feels longer, with the light lasting long past its bedtime and the body clock struggling to adapt. Spring had well and truly sprung; the sun hung high in the sky despite the late hour, its beams  were warm on Anna’s face as she looked down on the street below. The cold and the snow of winter seemed a long way away. 
It had been a year since the crackdown, a long, grey, austere year of sporadic violence, police brutality, disappearances and suppression. But unlike last year there was a sense of hope in the air. 

Yesterday, Anna had been woken by voices; singing old songs, traditional songs, songs she hadn't heard in a long time. The voices grew louder as the trickle of people became streams. They were coming from all directions, descending on the square in their droves. The square below became flooded with people, a sea of colour and noise, a mass statement of defiance. 
Anna had noticed the atmosphere was different from last year. Last year there was no hint of the sudden response from the authorities so people had believed they could bring about a change for the better. But this year, despite the gaiety, people had been expecting the violent hand of the law to clampdown on their insubordination at any moment. There was a sense of resigned defiance, a feeling that the action was worth the reaction; the anniversary of last years protest needed to be marked and damn the consequences. 
But something strange had happened. The singing continued, the chanting got louder, faces relaxed, smiles grew. There were no police, no rubber bullets, no water cannon. There were no bloody reprisals. The crowd dispersed organically, people went home peacefully.

Now, a day later, the streets teemed with people enjoying the late evening sunshine. Nothing had changed, the defunct regime still had a firm grip on power, but somehow the lack of violence had offered hope, hope that one day soon change might come. The clocks had gone forward and maybe, just maybe the country Anna had loved for so long had taken a little step in the right direction too.

Did this story sound familiar, the clocks go forward every year. 


  1. I like it when a Monday story is kind of heart-warming as it is not an easy time of the week:) This one has reminded me of Emily Dickinson's beautiful poem:
    “Hope is the thing with feathers
    That perches in the soul
    And sings the tune without the words
    And never stops at all.”

    1. I always try to make the Monday story a happy. funny, sexy, hopeful one :-)

  2. What sadness in you voice...

    1. Probably more tiredness, it’s been a long month and they stole an hour from me yesterday.

    2. oh so you can fake tiredness fairly well:) you're a good actor then... But this is sadness and melancholy which the hope shines through like in this piece of music:

    3. fake sadness, not tiredness - this is what I meant:) i think I the change of time is not good for me wither:)