Day-O, Day-ay-ay-O. Daylight come, and I want to go out.

This has been a particular winter of discontent.

We may have gotten less snow than normal, and may not have had as much ice and bitterly bitter cold as usual.

But the winter started early, didn't provide much relief by way of any January thaw to speak of, and, in general, was nasty, brutish, and long.

Not to mention dark.

Especially for those of us who live on the eastern edge, and the northern slope, of a time zone, winter evenings, when they be icumen in, are enough to make you cuckoo.

It's not so terrible in December, when we have holiday lights and holiday hustle to divert us. (And whatever else we have to say about the ancients, they were sure psychologically keen enough to center the holidays around the darkest spots of the year, when the weather outside is frightful, and when a lit tree, a bottle of wine, and a calorie-filled Christmas cookie can make the days be merry and bright.)

But once it's Christmas lights out, and winter begins in earnest, it is depressingly dark by 5 p.m.

Sure, inch by inch, or, rather, minute by minute, there's a bit more light every evening. The dimming of the day begins later and later - perceptively so, by February.

Nonetheless, come late afternoon, I am always wishing for more light - which is one of the reasons I don't actually mind an occasional winter business trip to Syracuse: it stays light later, that far west.

So I will forgive this past weekend for the cold rains that soaked my flat feet and penetrated my old bones, since it brought us daylight savings times.

Spring ahead!

I do so con brio, smiling as the first, still-reluctant crocuses peep their little headies up in the garden out front. (The people next door - the ones with the gardening service, the ones who get more direct sun - have mo' better crocuses,  plus daffodils and hyacinths already. While I am intensely envious of how their garden grows, I still smile benevolently as I pass by. Flower on!)

Across the street, I believe that the forsythia have started to bud.

Any day now, I will see a red, red robin come bob-bob-bobbin' along.

Admittedly, it may be harder for those at the western end, who are now contending with the fact that it's not just darkest before the dawn, but darkest at the dawn.

So I hope they will forgive me when I crow about the wonder and glory of daylight savings time.

Day-o, day-ay-ay o. Daylight savings come, and I want to stay out.