Daylight Savings Time is the worst.

Last year, we stumbled upon a lantern making workshop at our local library one Friday in the middle of fall and the kids made lanterns. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was part of the library’s participation in a community event that has occurred in a local park for the past four years: The Lantern Parade, which occurs the Sunday of the weekend of Daylight Savings Time.

This year, I saw the lantern making event at the library ahead of time, and we went on purpose. The description of the workshop on the library’s website explained the lanterns were intended for the parade a couple of days later, so the plan was to make the lanterns, then take them to the parade later in the weekend.

We piled into the car with our lanterns on Sunday night, brought one of the kids’ friends along, and made the short drive to the park. We walked down a leafy lane to the lake house, where cider and donuts were served by friendly folks, who provided us with battery-operated candles for our lanterns.

The rumble of drums sounded as the muted, miraculous gathering slowly grew.

The variety and creativity of the lanterns people brought was fantastic. The lanterns were mostly homemade, often using recycled materials. I saw several people wearing Garb – something vaguely costumish or historical in quality. I wore my 18th century jumps, which I’d just finished, so I felt right at home.

As it started to get dark, we circled a woman with a guitar, and we sang “This Little Light of Mine.” Then, everyone started walking around the lake, accompanied by the cheerful sound of the drums.

There was something very pagan about it – pounding drums in the night, a song about God and the Truth sung with the God part removed, by a group of people gathered for a non-religious purpose. Yet in the gathering together of community, there was something inherently spiritual.

We were honoring going into a season of cold and darkness, surrendering to a process that happens every fall. Like learning to walk in the dark, we were accepting that light only exists with its counterpart, the dark, and that is OK.

We circled the lake, lanterns bobbing in the dark, battery-powered light suits flashing.  Rounding the water with our feeble lights, we arrived back at the lake house and slowly dispersed.

I felt like I was part of a wonderful secret.

The parade was an acknowledgement and welcome of the darkness. It was a shift in perspective that I needed, and a lovely participation in an event that demonstrated the deep knowledge we have in our collective consciousness. We can embrace the dark just like we embrace the light, and wait till we find what it wants to teach us.