At 3 am this morning, I woke to the howling wind, the breeze kicking up the wool blanket covering my window, bringing in bursts of sunlight. I burrowed under a pillow and drifted off to sleep again. When at 6:30, I peeled myself from my bed, I opted for my mukklukks, knowing that the night wind would have made the snow-packed paths icey and slick. Though this week has been a breezy one, the wind has lost it’s edge. The gusts no longer seem vicious, and on more than one occasion have even felt pleasantly warm, and on one occasion, almost humid.
In a few places, the gravel base has begun to peek through the layers of snow and ice. Summer is surely on it’s way. Life is a bit of a blur here. Long days of work bleed into the evening, followed by a communal dinner and various social engagements. I look up to find that weeks have past, sucked up by the commotion, and yet books sit on the shelf unread, skeins of yarn remain untouched, and various projects lay in various states of meager attempts.
I am stunned to realize that it is already the 9th of November, that it has been weeks since I last wrote a blog entry, months since I’ve sent emails, longer still since I’ve sent photos or postcards. And yet the season is only just beginning. The field camp season has hardly begun, first flights delayed by burly weather in the deep field. There is much yet to come, and longer days still.
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