It's not a popular opinion, but I like "falling back" to standard time. Most days I'm in slow-down mode as it is by the time it gets dark, ready to prep dinner and sign off for a relaxing evening. But the real appeal of turning back the clocks for me? The morning light.

As one who struggles to wake up early enough for a fully satisfying and gradual rev-up to the day—ideally with time to meditate, practice asana, drink hot tea, and walk the dog, all prior to any human communication—the extra hour of light these past few mornings has been a peaceful gift.

I realize that the next six weeks will see shortening days as the sunrise creeps later and hospitable temperatures creep lower. Until then, I can still live in the moment and enjoy the invigoration of opening my eyes to an early greeting of the modest autumn sun, listening for the gentle birdsong before the din of traffic, and smelling the sweet dew of dawn waft up to my bedroom balcony where I venture out to take in the day's first breath of fresh air.

In some ways, these current mornings feel like an odd nostalgia for the early-pandemic quiet, when choices were fewer and slow motion was our safest speed. In other ways, they are sacred moments, wholly suspended in time, without the weight of technology, the volume of society, or the pressure of scheduled time.

There's another word for the sort of sacred moments I've described here, and the truth is that they can be found anytime of the year, at any time we choose. You already know the word. Yes. Yoga.