On the nature of time: Cycles

Well, so far I haven't been doing a very good job of making regular posts in this blog (or in my other blog on LiveJournal, for that matter). I intend to get back to writing regularly on the topic soon.

As part of that resolution ;-), I offer the following observations.

My wife, Shadowfoot, was reading a post to me yesterday about a circular calendar that someone was using to help in planning. Rather than using the block calendar so typical in Western cultures currently, with one row for each week and one page for each month, the poster was thinking of using a circular calendar, so that all of the dates were clearly visible, and he could get a better idea of how long it was going to take for something to be completed (such as planting to harvest) by seeing how much of an arc the event would take; for example, you could quickly see that 90 days would take approximately a quarter of a year, or that 120 days would take approximately one third of a year.

The examples above may seem fairly obvious, but you could also see quickly if your planting schedule would cause your harvest time to be staggered or all fall on about the same date.

You can do this with the block calendar, of course, but it may involve some complicated arithmetic, depending on the nature of the planning, but the visualization of thinking of a circle for the year can help you get a grasp on what that arithmetic means.

It occurred to me that I often visualize a year that way, like a giant clock with the Winter Solstice or New Year at the 12:00 position (depending on context). Further reflection revealed to me that I do not think of calendar months that way, although I do think of the phases of the moon that way.

Our Grove gathered for a little holiday socializing yesterday, and since we are a "teaching grove", we typically get into some interesting subjects of discussion even when we aren't having an "official" meeting. One of the topics that came up (I may have been the person who brought it up) was the Mayan calendar.

Anyone who has seen the Mayan calendar knows that it is a circular calendar.

Since I've been doing research on calendars used by various cultures, both past and present (and some speculative calendars for the future), I was past time for looking at this calendar. Without going into the significance of the Mayan calendar's end of the Long Count (Winter Solstice 2012), there were two particular points in the calendar that I was not expecting.

First of all, the Mayan calendar is not a lunar calendar. It does not follow the cycles of the lunar phases, although it might mark those phases.

Second, the Mayan calendar is not a true solar calendar, either, although one (!) of the definitions of "year" that is used is 365 days long (the other is 260 days long). There is no adjustment of that year over time, so the equivalent "new year" under that system falls behind the actual astronomical event by about a day every four years.

I was not expecting either of those points.

The Mayans were accomplished astronomers. They knew quite well that the fixed, 365 day year wasn't exact, that particular solar events would fall on different dates over the years. However, rather than make periodic adjustments to the length of the year (e.g. using leap days as in the Gregorian calendar), they accounted for it by knowing how many iterations of the calendar it would take before a particular solar event (such as the Winter Solstice) occurred on the same date in that calendar.

Timekeeping in general has to keep in mind two major components: cycles and forward progression. The cycles help us to know when something is likely to repeat, and the progression helps us know when discrete events have happened or when they will happen.

The hours of the day are cyclic in nature: there's a beginning, middle, and end, and then it starts over again for the next day. Daylight follows night time, and night time follows daylight, over and over. We record the progression of days by counting how many times this cycle occurs, usually picking some point as the beginning/ending of the day (typically midnight in modern Western cultures, sundown in several historical Western cultures as well as several Middle Eastern cultures).

The same can be said for lunations: new moon, first quarter, full moon, last quarter, and new moon again, to use the way that the phases of the moon are recorded on modern Western calendars. Again, we count the progression of lunations to record their progression, picking some point in the cycle (typically new moon or first quarter) as the zero point.

The solar year also follows that pattern: Vernal Equinox, Summer Solstice, Autumnal Equinox, Winter Solstice, and then back to Vernal Equinox again. We pick a [somewhat arbitrary] point in the cycle of the year as "New Year", and count how many times that event has passed (we also use our own birth date for marking the repeats of the solar year, or a date of marriage).

We use these cycles and their progressions, numbering or naming them, to record when things happened or predict/schedule when they will happen. We can predict when a crop is likely to be ready to be harvested by the date that we plant, and we can schedule that planting according to when they will likely need to be harvested.

We know when we need to get certain farm equipment out of storage and checked over, because we have an idea of when we are going to need it to be ready to work.

We know how old the chickens need to be before they will start producing eggs that we can use or sell, and how old they will be when they are likely to stop producing, so we can schedule when we need to get replacement chickens.

We know when we're supposed to be at work, so we have a decent idea of when we should get up in the morning in order to be able to get ready and travel to the work site (if you're a farmer, the farm is the general work site, but you may need to travel to different parts of the farm -- I need to go up onto one of the hillsides today or tomorrow to clear some fallen tree branches before the next snows). We also have a good idea of what time we should be getting to sleep the previous evening, so that we can be sufficiently rested when we wake in the morning.

And the next day, we get up and do it all over again.

Each day is unique for what happens during that day, but the cyclic nature of the day gives us an idea of what to expect for certain things.

Happy New Year! May the progressive nature of the year cycles make it better for you than last year.

Fragments

Some of my dreams lately have been more of the action/adventure type. Not all, but a sizable fraction.

Of one of the dreams from last night, I have only fragments. The item that most sticks in my mind was a bridge: A very old metal moon bridge, very large, obviously only intended as a foot bridge (being the nature of moon bridges). Our team was crossing this bridge in a hurry, at least partly because the bridge was collapsing under us as we went. If we didn't cross that bridge before the collapse was complete, we would never whatever it was that the bridge spanned (it was night, and I didn't get a good look at what was underneath the bridge). We had to step quickly, but we had to step only in the right places to keep from falling through -- my job was to be first, and find those places to step.

I remember thinking as I crossed the bridge that there was someone in a following team that we were going to need, but she wasn't going to reach the bridge that we were on before it collapsed. I also remember not being concerned about it -- the lack of a bridge would not prevent her from crossing.

Our team wasn't there to secure the bridge -- our job was to find the right place for the next team to work once they arrived.

I don't know what the next team was supposed to do...

Mother Nature Always Bats Last

Thomas Friedman writes Op-Ed commentary for the New York Times, and his column is occasionally carried by our local newspaper.

On Tuesday, Oct 14, 2008, a column that he wrote on the financial markets drew an analogy with Mother Nature, and I was truly fascinated by what he wrote at the start of his column:

My friend Rob Watson, the head of EcoTech International, has a saying Mother Nature that goes like this: Mother Nature is just chemistry, biology and physics. That's all she is. And because of that, says Rob, you cannot spin Mother Nature. You cannot sweet talk her, and you cannot ignore her. She's going to do with the climate whatever chemistry, biology and physics dictate. And Mother Nature always bats last, and she always bats a thousand.

I have since found that neither Rob Watson nor Thomas Friedman coined the phrase Mother Nature bats last; that phrase can be traced to bumper stickers for the ecology movements such as Earth First!, and [probably] to ecologist Paul Ehrlich. Some of the appearances of the phrase add the note that Nature is the home team.

Indeed, Mother Nature always bats last, and she always bats a thousand.

Y Naddwr (The Whittler)

The Whittler wields the small blade and the large, removing little chips of wood. The smell of the wood is in the air, released by the small cuts and the large. Each stroke of the blades caresses the piece, teasing out that which is hidden within, that which was always there, waiting to be revealed. Slowly, slowly, the form emerges from formlessness.

Care must be taken, for the grain of the wood will draw the blade. The block may have small cracks that could become larger ones. The Whittler works with these, following the grain, protecting the cracks, working with the character of the block.

Sometimes, the Whittler does not know what will emerge as he works. He listens to the wood, tests it, feels it, learns where the strengths and weaknesses of the piece are, finds within it a thing of beauty, or a puzzle, or a child's toy.

Haste carries risk; a slip of the blade may remove some vital piece, or split the work. The Whittler must judge when to hurry, when to move with slow deliberation, what places to use utmost care. He must learn when to use the small blade or the large, when to take little cuts and when to slice broad strokes.

The Whittler chooses the wood, but the wood also chooses the Whittler. The two work together, one shaping the other, the second inspiring the first. They are one, both making the effort, the Whittler in the sweat on his arms and brow, the callouses on his hands, the wood with each tiny chip removed, each sliver cut away. What is removed tells as much as what remains.

On occasion, other tools may be used in the process. A saw may cut a piece from a large piece. A froe may split the wood, following and revealing the grain.

Chisels may be used to rough out the shape of the final piece. A drill for making a hole, perhaps for a musical instrument, perhaps to hang a medallion around the neck. Or the Whittler may opt for just the blades, the small blade and the large, to take that block of wood, and, step by step, little cut by little cut, work the piece into the shape that calls to him.

Studying druidry and its associated topics, following the path and the Paths, reviewing the Spirals and expanding on them, is, in some ways, akin to whittling. The Seeker is initially like that block of wood, with form hidden within. Gentle strokes of the blade of knowledge, following the grain of the Seeker's spirit, slowly reveal the potential within.

The Seeker is also the Whittler, studying how to apply that knowledge, how to bring that shape out from deep within, how to use the shape and knowledge that is already there, how to enhance it. The Seeker must know himself the way the Whittler knows the block of wood. He must learn the grain of his soul, the cracks within, the hidden knowledge that has been there all along.

When he is done, when the sweat of his hands has polished the work to a bright shine, when he lays down his tools for a time to admire his work, to see what has been revealed, what was hiding within him, he can be proud of what he has accomplished.

And then the Whittler begins again.

Dreams: Conflicts of various types

A dream, interrupted.

---

We are in a campground which is heavily wooded. There are gravel roads and worn footpaths. The day is sunny, but the shade under the trees is heavy, with the fully-formed leaves of summer. It is neither particularly hot nor particularly cold, but simply comfortable.

There are two groups of people in the campground, at odds for some unknown reason. This is not the friendly competition that occurs in some places and campgrounds, with two groups that come from different areas for a regular contest. This is an aggressive, in-your-face conflict, with shouting, threats, and occasional fisticuffs.

At one point, as I am traveling alone from another area of the campground back to our encampment along one of the footpaths, I am accosted by a group of men that appear to mean me physical harm. I am severely outnumbered, and I know that if I try to make a stand against them, the results will be heavily against me. I dodge, weave, and evade, more than once managing to free myself from grasping hands that cannot quite hold onto my wrist, my arm, my ankle. I free myself from one assailant by springing off of a small rock, placing my feet against his chest, and kicking off. As I run and turn a corner in the path, I find more of them waiting, but I somehow manage to evade them as well.

Returning to our encampment, I find that the two groups have decided to participate in an archery competition, to try to use friendly sports as a way to reduce the tensions between the two groups.

I am a decent archer in the dream, but not exceptional. I can hunt, but a lot of that is patience and close shooting. I am not sure that I would be able to contribute much to our team, but almost all who are archers (which is almost all of the encampment) are going to participate, so I go into my tent to assemble my archery tackle.

The tent is a modern nylon dome tent, about five feet tall in the center. My archery tackle, however, is traditional, a D-section longbow, wooden arrows, hip quiver, leather bracer, leather archer's glove. The arrows are not target arrows, but rather have diamond-shaped hunting heads. These are the arrows that I have with me, so these are the arrows that I will use.

But when I emerge from my tent, the rest of the archers in the encampment have gone. I ask one of the few remaining in the encampment where they have gone, and I am told that they have gone to the competition, which is to be held in the southern section of the campground.

I do not know where that is, or what route to take to get there. Perhaps they saw my hesitation, and decided to go on without me. Perhaps there simply wasn't time to wait for me. In any case, if I still want to participate, I will have to find my way on my own.

---

At this point, I was awakened by our elder cat's semi-regular early morning howl (which will not stop until someone gets up to go find her, to be actually seen by her), so I arose to find her, calmed her, and then started preparations for my day.

On the nature of time: Daylight, Sunrise/Sunset, Twilight, and Dawn/Dusk

Note: The writer is in North America, and is writing primarily about conventions in North America using American English for this post. If and when I get more information on this particular topic in other cultures, I will add that to the series.

Why does it matter what we name a unit of time (second, minute, hour), or call a particular point in time (daybreak, sunset, Noon)? Frankly, it's to facilitate communication. If I want to meet someone at a particular point in time, I might tell them that I want to meet them at 1300 hours, or 1:00 PM, or an hour after Noon, and I would have a reasonable expectation that we would be talking about the same thing if we had the same convention for referring to a particular time. When we don't have the same convention for referring to a particular time, we need to know that so that we can agree on when to meet.

In my last post on time (On the nature of time: hours), I noted that some systems of measuring time start the day at nightfall/sunset, daybreak/sunrise, or at midnight mean solar time. I also mentioned that saying nightfall or sunset may not be saying the same thing.

Since the hours of daylight are usually defined according to sunrise and sunset, the unequal hours time systems have to have an agreement on just what that means.

Let’s start this at the easiest point to deal with: Sunset (also called sundown in some areas). This is, from the term, the time of day when the sun, well, sets. As a point in time, sunset is usually defined as that time of the day when the sun's trailing edge disappears below the horizon at the end of the daylight period.

Sunrise, likewise, is that point of time when the sun's leading edge first appears above the horizon at the beginning of the daylight period.

Because these conventions refer to the position of the trailing and leading edge of the sun in relation to daytime, not the center of the sun's disk, that means that at the Vernal and Autumnal Equinox, when the path of the Sun crosses the equatorial plane of the Earth, the defined period of daylight, using the definitions of sunset and sunrise above, is actually slightly longer than the defined period of darkness.

Even if you do measure the daylight period as the period when the center of the sun's disk is at or above the horizon, we can still see the sun when it is actually physically below the horizon due to refraction of light in the atmosphere, and again, the day when observed daylight and nighttime are the same length does not fall on the equinox.

This can lead to some very interesting conversations as some folk who understand the sunrise/sunset convention of defining the daylight period, or the effect of refraction, try to explain to others that the days that daytime and nighttime are the same length don't actually occur on the day of the equinox.

We call that period when the sun is not visible but there is still light in the sky twilight. In the morning, twilight begins at dawn, and in the evening, twilight ends at dusk.

So, what are dawn and dusk? There are three common definitions in use.

EDIT NOTE: In the following definitions, it is important to note that the sun's disk appears to be ½° wide, and that during all periods of twilight, the sun's disk is completely below the horizon.

Civil or civilian twilight: That period of time between when the center of the sun's disk is less than 6° below the horizon and the upper limb of the sun's disk is visible above the horizon (sunrise/sunset). The beginning of the morning twilight is called civil dawn and ends at sunrise, and the end of the evening twilight period is called civil dusk and begins at sunset. It is also sometimes referred to as the elapsed half hour before sunrise and the elapsed half hour after sunset, for simplicity's sake.

Nautical twilight: That period of time between when the center of the sun's disk is less than 12° below the horizon but greater than or equal to 6° below the horizon. The beginning of the morning twilight period is called nautical dawn and the end of the evening twilight period is called nautical dusk.

Astronomical twilight: That period of time between when the center of the sun's disk is less than 18° below the horizon but greater than or equal to 12° below the horizon. The beginning of the morning twilight period is called astronomical dawn and the end of the evening twilight period is called astronomical dusk.

Each type of twilight is often thought of by what kind of activity you can undertake during that period. During civil twilight, you can still perform regular outdoor activities without artificial light (one convention is that if you can no longer read, it is no longer twilight). During nautical twilight, you can still distinguish large objects at a distance, and there is sufficient darkness to take sightings of brighter, known stars and compare their positions to the horizon for navigation purposes (there are some additional practical definitions of nautical twilight regarding whether or not you can still see the rings of a target at a fixed distance). During astronomical twilight, you can observe most stars, but some of the dimmer objects, such as nebulae, are not distinguishable.

A moment's reflection should be sufficient to realize that sunrise and sunset, dawn and dusk, and the periods of twilight are all dependent on time of year and geography (including but not limited to the observer's latitude and longitude). They are local conventions.

Here's to local conventions.

Dreams: Seeking the Unseelie Court

Over a vast area, there is a maze of white walls, pillars, and open doorways. No area is closed off from any other, but in many areas there are no direct routes. In some areas, there are floors of stone, in others, areas of grass. All areas are open to the clear blue sky, even the areas that serve as corridors. The light is natural, as if from the sun, and appears to be directionless.

The rooms vary in size, from small courtyards to larger yards suitable for great gatherings, with the wind flattening the grass. The walls also vary, from strictly regimented, evenly spaced areas, to more haphazard, wandering paths and uneven rooms. The walls in the more strictly regimented areas appear to be less structurally sound and newer; the uneven areas are older, made in the more distant past.

I do not know where the entrances are to this vast area, nor did it feel important to know.

The many people there wear a variety of clothing, mostly on a theme of reënactors of the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Many wear knives and swords. Capes and robes are common. The clothing is worn comfortably, as regular, everyday clothing, not as if it was a costume. They go about their business, cooking, eating, talking with each other. Some areas are open to all; others are more private, with people standing at the paths to those areas to make sure that no one wanders in uninvited. Everyone seems to be at best friendly, at worst preoccupied with their own activities. Some voices are raised in excitement and happiness, some to call from one place to another; no voices are raised in anger.

I know this place. I have been here before. But this place is not my goal; it is an area that I must pass through on the way to my goal.

I am traveling by invitation to another place, and have joined a small group of six or seven others being guided to the entrance that will lead to that place. The entrance to the path that will lead there is hidden somewhere within this maze of walls and pillars, rooms and corridors. Somewhere, I know, there is one wall that you can pass through as if it were not there, if you press your hands against the wall in the right fashion, with the right frame of mind. I have been through that entrance before, some time ago.

The path that we seek the entrance to will lead us to the Unseelie Court. My own path leads to the Shadow Court. In my mind, the two Courts are the same. I am expected, have been invited, but I must find my way there by my own means, with no direct assistance from anyone of the Court.

As we walk single file through this white area of corridors, rooms, and courtyards, the first part of our group moves ahead, away from us. The tail end of the group is falling behind, and I am caught between my desire to keep up with the first group and remain behind to help the laggards, a woman and a young girl. In the end, I lose sight of both parts of the group, and must find my own way.

I know what the wall that conceals the path looks like, feels like, but this area is vast, and it will take me some time to find it. I know that once I find that entrance, I will be able to follow the path to my destination; the hardest part is finding that entrance. I don't recall any details of the concealed path itself (though I know that I have followed it in the past) save one: In the last open area of the concealed path before reaching the Court, I must pass through the Earth gate, which in that area is in the east, rather than its expected location in the north. It is an important detail that needs to be remembered about following the concealed path.

With assistance of some people in the area, I go back to find the woman and girl, and do find them, but they seem to be distracted now, and may no longer be seeking the concealed path to the Unseelie Court.

The first part of the group is long gone, and now I am traveling alone.

It is difficult to ask for directions, because I know that many of the people here will not understand. If they believe in the Unseelie Court at all, they will not understand why I would be seeking it. They will not stop me, but they will not help me, either.

I finally find an old friend that I have not seen in some time, a tall knight with long dark hair, beard and mustache. I know that he can and will help me, that he will not question why I am going where I am going. Whether or not he has been there himself, I don't know, but I do know that he knows the way.

He helps me by giving me the following advice: When seeking the Court, sometimes it is easier to build your understanding of the path by working backwards from your destination, and knowing that somewhere the path leading away will join the path leading towards. He mentions that the path leading away from the Unseelie Court starts by leading west through the gateway of Earth, which matches my recollection that at the end of the path leading to the Court must lead east through that gateway.

With that advice, I set out again, feeling more confident that I will find that entrance to the path that will lead to my destination. I don't know how long it will take me, or how far that I must travel, or who or what I will meet along the way, but I will reach my destination, and learn why I have been called to go there.

Cleaning up

NOTE: I will be continuing my posts on our methods of measuring time, but wanted to write on a different topic first. I will probably be doing that during my entire "Nature of Time" series.

Many years ago, probably before I was even a teenager, my brothers and I used to pick up trash along the roadside between the farm and town, almost a two mile stretch. This is what I recall of the practice (this is how I remember it, but I was young enough that my memory may not be completely accurate, and the time frame is severely condensed).

It started out simple enough: Occasionally, when we walked to town or back, we would pick up a few items of trash and then throw them in the first trash bin that we found. Then, we started carrying trash bags and filled them as we went on the occasions when we did it. It got to the point that we got thorough enough that we would collect more trash than we could carry, so we would take extra bags with us, and set the filled bags along the side of the road as we went. My father would then come along in the pickup and collect the bags, and then we would take them to the local dump.

At some point, more people in town became involved in the project, starting to do the same thing of collecting trash along the side of the road in an annual clean-up of the town.

Newly returned to living in my hometown, I don't see that happening these days. My wife and I walked into town a few days ago, and did a second walk in a loop around some of the local roads (about four miles for each walk), and there were discards everywhere. It looked like someone used one particular stretch of the road on a regular basis to discard their Bud Light empties — we picked up what we could carry, but it wasn't much compared to what was out there (at least a case's worth on that one stretch).

Part of being a Druid is stewardship of the Earth, caring for it, maintaining it. There are many ways to do that, but a simple one is to pick up litter along the roadside wherever you might find it. It's a dirty job, no doubt of that. And you don't have to be a Druid to do it. You can even get exercise at the same time. ;-)

So, I have in mind to start the process all over again, picking up litter, starting with our neighborhood and the local roads, and hopefully inspiring others in town to do the same. I've already broached the subject to two ladies who run the local hardware store, and they say that they're very interesting in participating. I will also see if there are members of our local Grove who would like to participate.

Disposing of the trash will be a little more complicated — the town now charges to dispose of trash ($2 USD per 45 lb bag). But I think the small financial investment will be worth it. Plus I think that we can redeem some of the beer cans and soda cans to offset some of the disposal costs.

When enough of the snow is off the ground, we can start the work.

On the nature of time: Hours

Time passes.

Well, that seems to be a simple enough statement on the face of it. Most of us have a sense of past, present, and future, and the language to refer to the differences.

I've been doing a little research recently on how time is marked in different cultures, both currently and in the past: Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, decades, centuries, millenia, etc. I've posted previously on how the seasons are marked, and the differences in determining when a particular season begins.

Recently, our AODA study group discussed the calendar of Coligny, a lunisolar calendar that may or may not have been Gaulish in origin (it's an interesting exercise to look up everyone's opinion on the origins and details of that calendar). That re-sparked my interest in the nature of recording time, and sent me down all sorts of different paths in short order. This is part of one of those paths.

I know from earlier studies that there is more than one way to track time during the day, and more than one meaning to the word hour in western culture.

The obvious meaning refers to the mean solar hour, which is 1/24^th of the length of the mean solar day (solar days actually vary in length during the year). We understand that the hour has 60 minutes, and that each minute has 60 seconds in it. We're taught this in school (at least the part about 60 minutes and 60 seconds, and 24 hours in the day), and might learn later that there are atomic clocks out there that measure and report a fixed, precise time that at least the U.S. government agrees on (my computer has a program that synchronizes the computer's clock to one of those atomic clocks). The day begins at midnight, and the hours run from 1 to 12 to reach noon, and then from 1 to 12 again to reach midnight (unless you're using a 24 hour clock as the military and some computer centers do. Oh, and Hong Kong as well).

Astronomy and astrology both use this definition of hour, historically and currently, for taking measurements and recording events.

But that's not the only way to measure the hours, or to determine when the day begins.

There's a concept of unequal hours that goes back a long time. Under this concept, the periods of daylight and darkness are each divided up into a predetermined number of units (called hours in western culture for convenience), and because the period of daylight and period of darkness may be of different lengths, the hours of daylight may be different lengths from the hours of darkness.

This use of hour was applied to the Canonical Hours, the marking of when to perform particular sets of prayers in the various Christian churches, such as Prime (first hour of daylight), Terce/Tierce (third hour of daylight), Sext (sixth hour of daylight/midday), None[s] (ninth hour of daylight). We still keep one of those words in common use, None[s] (noon), although it's been moved up to midday from its later position). The hours of nighttime were divided into a set number of Watches, Vigils, or Nocturnes, depending on the convention in use.

This use of hour is also applied to the Planetary Hours, which is used to determine which of the seven planets (Saturn, Jupiter, Mars, Sun, Venus, Mercury, Moon) govern a particular time of day, so that you can know what hour a particular activity is best performed during. As with many mathematical concepts these days, there are websites, spreadsheets, and computer programs available that can help you determine exactly when these planetary hours fall on a given date.

The planet that governs the first planetary hour of daylight also governs that particular day: The Sun governs the first planetary hour of daylight on Sunday, the moon governs the first planetary hour of daylight on Monday, Mars on Tuesday, Mercury on Wednesday, Jupiter on Thursday, Venus on Friday, and Saturn on Saturday. This is [supposedly] based on the ancient Chaldean order of the planets for astrology.

The day might be considered to begin at different times as well. The so-called Italian system starts the day at either nightfall or sunset (not necessarily considered the same time), the Babylonian considers the day to start at daybreak or sunrise, and the so-called Local system considers the day to start at local midnight (the modern system), all either for equal or unequal hours.

Going east to Asia, China and Japan also have both concepts of hour, as either an equal division of the mean solar day, or an unequal division of daylight versus nighttime. The major difference is that, traditionally, the total number of divisions in a day is 12, rather than 24. The Japanese hour system, further, counts backwards from 9 to 4 for the first half of the day, and again from 9 to 4 for the second half of the day (1 to 3 are reserved for religious reasons, the number of bell strokes to call Buddhists to prayer). I have seen a picture of a Japanese 12-hour clock, but it is a full day clock, not a half day clock like most western clocks.

Time to go — it's Noon/Sext/Midday/the 9^th hour of the day/the 3^rd hour of daylight/time to make and eat lunch.