Daylight saving time: a twice-yearly ritual that treats the sun as negotiable

We have built a civilization that spends its best energy arguing about an hour, then forgets which direction to move the clocks in March. The premise is charming in a way only humans could manage: we cannot make the days longer, so we relabel them. Sunset at 8 p.m. becomes a moral achievement because the number on the wall says so. Ask a farmer or a parent of a kid waiting for the school bus in the dark which hour deserves the credit, and you get a much more honest answer than any committee has produced. What strikes me most is not that the scheme is silly, but that it persists because almost everyone shrugs at it. We accept that the sun has been rescheduled by decree, twice a year, and mostly just complain about our sleep.