After more than a year here, I feel a bit like a local. Maybe not as much as my darling daughter, who is picking up our village's dialect (yes, every little village has its own dialect) from her classmates, to the delight of her linguist father, but I feel comfortable here. We've all gotten to the point where we no longer note our environment, except on rare occasions when we can see things the way we did when we first moved here.
Then we are reminded: we live in a kick-ass place.
There is a ruined castle within walking distance of my classes. I can look up and see it hulking over the town as I walk between classes. I have to cross a bridge that has been there in various incarnations since the 1200s. And there's a *witch tower* in one corner of a courtyard at the university. There is no witch-history in Texas, unless you count those Wiccans, but as far as I know, no one has ever tried to burn them or lock them up in a specially dedicated tower.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment