[winter, summer, fall]

[winter]
back home. back at my desk. i look at the calendar, count the days i have been away, it doesn't match the feel of the drives, the places i've been. it was august when i left. now it's september. and in Austria, on the second morning, it was winter: fresh snow on the nearby mountains, fresh snow on a car in the parking spot, leading to the first snowball of the year.

[summer]

winter was followed.. by a summer memory. on the stop-over day at home, and in perfect synch with the change of skies, and the change of places, a Dog Days summer e-book went live at Not From Here Are You? - i have a little 101-story included in the e-book, written during the heat wave that roamed through europe. here's the e-book-link: Dog Days of Summer 2010, and here the title and start of my story (page 34 in the e-book):

Antelope Summer
It was the summer of vuvuzelas. The ball rolled on and on, down there in the South of Africa, between all those countries of the world. Huge screens glowed in the night, green reflections of success and failure. Then suddenly, it was over...

[fall]

and .. fall. in the Black Forest, on a drive to a view point named "Schauinsland" (literally: "Look-Into-The-Land"), i stopped halfway in a valley. i sat and was reading when something fell down next to me. it was: a leaf. a bit later, the next leaf followed, and the next. they fell slow, singular, like tiny steps of fall. no picture of that moment, unfortunately. but i took a photo from Schauinsland:

and a weird moment from today: i thought of blueprintreview, and for a moment, couldn't remember the theme of the current issue. also, the idea of daily writing for a month seemed far away. but a vibe of it still lingers: i thought i would have to skip the 52/250 flash theme of the week: "we are not responsible". but at deadline-day, i felt this ping of urge to get a text together. weird, the ways our minds work sometimes.
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