This is the last week of classes, and it’s a bit of a mad rush to get through essay revisions (for the students) and marking (for me)–we “moderate” semester grades here, which means presenting sheets of grades to colleagues and discussing high and low cases. There are also the dreaded (to me) class sheets of attendance, with percentages of absence to be calculated, with students’ ability to take the final exam hanging in the balance.
Zoë climbs the mountain with me to serve as a writing resource, though not all the students who would benefit from her help choose to take advantage of it.
The skies continue to impress us, both in the day and in the evening–even the night.
James and I go walking down the hillside. I’m struck by what look like cherry trees in bloom–in mid November.
Sometimes, the world seems all topsy turvy here. The hardest thing for me to understand (beyond even the strangeness of the seasons) is the weirdly positive associations Hitler seems to evoke here:
When positive Hitler quotations show up on classroom walls, you have to imagine that some high-level figure is a Hitler fan. But who would that be? And why?
I’ll stick with the landscape for now: the rice harvest,
the prayer flags,
the wasp nest, like a rough-hewn heart near the top of the manidhar pole,
and the Sherubtse clock tower, backlit in the evening light.