Yar! Ahoy! (n a t u r e . . . )

It’s getting chilly in North Kackalack right now. yep, it is. Every next day is a day closer to the center of a distant Winter, and so every day I go outside there is some urgency. I feel like a pirate on the the ocean of the on-coming Fall season, jumping on the ship of any nice afternoon that I happen to come by and rummaging it, stealing dry gunpowder, grog, and just most importantly some sliver of what could be left of the sun's summer light.

Go now(!) and you can still find the juke-joint hopping in the forest. Walk around and all that jumping at your feet is as likely to be tiny frogs as it is the autumn crickets — both small, both likely to chirp-chirp-chirp in that loveable, OCD sort of way.

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Crayfish, those small and crafty freshwater lobster-creatures, make these little sculptured volcano-homes by the streamsides. No joke. This thing may not be Mount St. Helens, but it’s as tall as my camera and goes deeper in the ground than I’d likely dare to reach (assuming my arm was like stick-thin).
Did you know Antonio Gaudi was a crayfish? It’s true.
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frogs sing songs smaller than your fingernail.
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wood berries catch fire.
poof! (just like that)
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I wish I dressed as well as most beetles. It's always an 80's dance party with them; six-legs, six ways to get fun-ky.