Static

This time of year always turns into a blur. The relief and brief bits of green from the summer turn brown again. Life decays, what was once fresh and new is now old. The light begins to diminish, and once again you begin to live in a cave. Sun up on your way to work, sun down on the way back.



I always feel a strange pull this time of year. Even though I love teaching and love my job, I feel the strange need to escape, and get away from civilization. To cherish the last bits of non-frozen tundra. Perhaps it's because you know there is a long hard winter coming. The next time that you'll see green is the end of the school year.
Three animals enjoying the last weeks without snow.


Disregarding my presence.


Bring on the melancholy of winter.