i'll write you a postcard, i'll send you the news

It's amazing how so much can be crammed into a week. Let alone two, four, or eight.
Fourth week of Hilary Term.
This time last term it felt like it took two months to get through four weeks.
This term? It has gone by so fast.
I still can't believe that I'm halfway done with my Masters Program.

I love it when there are blue skies at Oxford. The blue sky against the grey-and-yellow stones is quite striking. And today there is blue sky.

Sometimes, walking past the Rad Cam, I am struck that I go to Oxford. I go to Oxford. And walking past Magdalen Bridge, past the Thames, past the Rad Cam and All Souls' College . . . this is part of my morning commute. It is good to be wonderstruck every once in awhile.

Fourth week means there are slight panic attacks when you realize that you really should have a draft of that essay finished, or more primary sources for your dissertation. But yet here I am, taking a break from Herbert Hoover and famine relief efforts in the Soviet Union to write this for you, gentle reader. For you and for me, really.

I met a horse the other day, close to a friend's house. We're pretty sure that the horse is not well taken care of. But we gave him carrots. There is something majestic and calming about horses. And it is good to get out of Oxford every once in awhile. Leave the tower, see the shire. 

The daffodils are blooming. It is too early for them, but here they are, right by my flat. This is the view from my kitchen window. Have I told you about my kitchen window? It is my room with a view--a view with a green courtyard and now these yellow, smiling faces. They greet me each morning and evening, whenever I leave for the city or when I come home. And whenever I open the door, I am enveloped by their sweet, heady fragrance. You know how certain smells remind you of certain places, times, and people? I am certain that the scent of blooming daffodils will forever remind me of spring in Oxford.