A Siren’s Song—Sung Too Early


It wasn’t oh-dark-thirty when the tornado siren went off this morning and it wasn’t eleven in the morning on the first Monday of the month either. It was only seven. A real oh-dark-thirty wakeup call will come tomorrow morning, when Anne’s iPhone alarm will callout in the dark, telling her that is time to get up ungodly early and be a poll worker. I’ll probably just roll over and go back to sleep. It really wasn’t that early today when the tornado siren sounded. The sun was rising in the east and sunshine was streaming through our bedroom window. Still, it was early enough to wake us up and interrupt our circadian sleep cycle. In the dichotomy between larks and night owls, falling off of daylight-saving time has for some reason pushed us squarely into the latter category. Even though it was clear to the east, I still got up to check to the west, because if weather was going to happen that would be the direction that it would come from. I saw nothing but blue sky. Checking radar only confirmed this forecast. It was about seven when the sirens sounded. Had the weatherman set his clock back five hours instead of only one? The county cops later tweeted that the alarm had been raised by “accident” and that the regular monthly test of sirens is still on for eleven.

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