In response to
Staring Out My Window at the City Below
One month from now, my city will die. On April 18, the lifts close for the season and roughly one quarter of the population leaves the next week. Gone. To southern hemisphere ski areas. To warmer climates. To summer jobs in the forest. Gone.
The grizzlies wake and stumble out looking for their first spring snack. The ducks drop into the pond and the geese waddle across the golf course greens looking for bugs and stealing errant balls.
The city slowly revives with the opening of fishing on the Elk River in mid June. Mountain biking brings some. Hiking a few. But it is slow.
And in the fall, once again folks with funny accents–Aussies, Kiwis, Brits and a few from the continent–seemingly lost, wander into town. The Québécois arrive with their dogs and skateboards.
By early December, the lights are back on, the restaurants full and the bars hopping with live music and dancing ‘til dawn.
Or maybe we move into a modestly developed form of civil hibernation each summer.