we live in the schizophrenic north, where for nine months of the year, we accept the retreat of the sun and the austere, barren landscape that coldness brings with it. and then, for three months of the year, our world is turned upside down. the lushness feels almost suffocating.  the woods become impenetrable. the cattails grow from underwater tubers to seven-foot giants in a matter of weeks. the soil smells of dampness and decay. perspiration sits on everything and fogs my eye glasses. by september it will all be over again. but for three months of the year, i live in a northern jungle.

locust leaves

sain paul, minnesota