Time is a strange thing, and right now, I feel as though I have stolen some. I am sitting on the banks of the coulee (the creek that runs through campus), below the stained glass branches of an aspen and watching the ripple of the muskrat swirl around the purple phlox and cattails. Occasionally, the trees shake with the crash of train cars so close that I can read their ID numbers, a colossal domino game played in the railroad yard bordering campus. A chipmunk darts closer as I set my penny whistle down and rest from my duet with crows. A redwing blackbird cocks his head. The mother mallard calls her young.Truly, these minutes shouldn’t be mine—after all, with finals this next week, umpteen projects to finish, packing to arrange, services to organize, and all other details that spring up like dandelions before leaving the country, I could be doing any number of things.
But since when is a thief responsible?
I feel as though I have merely blinked and the summer has disappeared (and with it, all the blog posts that I intended to share with you). I leave North Dakota in five days and the US in twelve. And yet, I look back and see this summer so packed full of everything that I’m amazed it can have such a density. I do apologize for my silence; many times, I found myself choosing between either falling into bed or writing for here. Alas, sleep regularly won out. But over the next few days, I’m going to attempt to sneak a few more chances to share with you a bit of what I have been pondering this summer.
Just call me the Bandit Blogger :)
