Notes from Laramie:

• Nobody actually likes that winter lasts so long here
• Overhearing a discussion on well water – where it tastes best, where it dries up
• The metaphorical use of the term “bearcat” to describe a flummoxing process, e.g., “Getting my car registered today was a real bearcat”
• Two severed male elk heads sitting upright in a neighbor’s backyard, in full view of the sidewalk, their bodies nowhere to be found
• Wyoming town names include Chugwater, Bar Nunn, and Ten Sleep

Two good Laramie observations, made by other people:

• A student in the economics graduate program with Matt, who just moved to the U.S. this fall, asked us why college-aged boys here are allowed to own such powerful rifles. He attended a military boarding school for boys in Bangladesh growing up
• Sherman Alexie, the Native American poet from Seattle, came to speak at the university last week. He poked fun at the audience, asking if we all realized how close we are to Denver. He said he’d decided that the relentless Wyoming wind was just trying to kill itself by careening into everything as hard as it possibly could. This description isn’t far off

In other news, Matt and I are still afraid of our basement, I have yet to organize the bookshelf, and it snowed again the week before last (and last night!).

And for those of you who missed my Instavideo, here’s a little snow ditty:

First inkling of snow
out through bay window

tumbling flakes start to flurry
in their breathless meandering hurry

settling in hair, nostrils, uninvited
spinning out, up, in – in spite of

wind tugging firmly otherwise
air now misted thick with white

I’m trying the handle of my car door
stuck numbed shut in winter storm