These swans, either trumpeters or tundras, flew over yesterday, riding each others' slipstream to warmer places.

They've spent their summer on tundra, probably in western Alaska, maybe near the broad, flat, wet mouth of the Kobuk River, floating regally in ponds. These birds are headed to Colorado, or Nevada, or California, or somewhere else in the west where water flows all winter. They are the last migrant birds to leave us up here, and a sign that the quiet season is here again. 

is snow. 

  A few inches on the ground here, which changes everything in early October. Once we get it, we never seem to rise above freezing again–except for Chinook winds. 

So, this is the time of baseball on the radio, and walking the dog through the snow. One of my favorite times of year, until baseball deserts us.  

And thanks to those four people out there, you know who you are (and I don't), who have purchased my new book:  www.amazon.com/Alaska-Tracks-Footprints-Country-Ambler/dp/1438232233/ref 

  In the subway tunnel. The humanity, all politely backing into you to jam the train full.  

 A hot springs by Mt. Aso, a huge, steaming caldera on the island of Kyushu.  

Noodle soup in Sapporo. I think I was Japanese in another life. I loved everything, even the pig toes.

An excellent dude who cooked us meat at an Okinawa beach party. He owns a clothing store and designs shirts like the one he's he wearing. Okinawa is paradise. Tropical breezes, shorts and t-shirt. Nuff said.

Ned, Hitomi, and Kenji with wooden pig near Aso City. 

It's out. It's fresh. It's my new book. Check it out:

 http://www.amazon.com/Alaska-Tracks-Footprints-Country-Ambler/dp/1438232233/ref  

Summer is chillin' down.

The musk of high-bush cranberries returns to the woods.

The smell is like a drug, and has you wanting to run the Equinox Marathon despite your lack of training.

You notice something, that you've run that marathon for so many years that your body seems to remember it, and can take you the miles without putting in all the hours they suggest in Runner's World.   

Oh, you won't have a PR, and you probably won't beat your neighbor who's been out every night running with the dog, but you will finish with 10 minute miles and a smile.