Ode to Time Zones

We are winging our way east at 250 mph. During our two and a half
hour flight, the minutes of four and a half hours are devoured in one
gulp. The sun doesn't slip past the horizon, but dives past, toes
pointed at just the right angle, leaving barely a ripple to mark its
passing. I would mourn the loss of these precious minutes, but I know
that on my way home the sun will float lazily along with me, returning
that borrowed time with a smile.