like a stone on the old plantation

The insect life are singing their song here in the late evening heat. If you could sit on this bench beside the lamplit walkway. Pant legs rolled up of course - it's the Southern way, or at least cliche dictates so. If Bruce Hornsby was whispering into your ear stories about valley roads, music on the range, an old plantation... If your t-shirt clung to your skin and your hair matted down onto your forehead... If antebellum columns loomed across the green... Maybe then you'd feel within you that stir of romantic excitement that has so accompanied me during the start of this post.

I am blessed to find myself in the company of many fine fellow students. I feel quite confident in the prospect of this place yielding good people, good friends, good souls who thirst for something much deeper than knowledge, something much more meaningful.

I sat in class this evening, mind adrift in the waves of a fantastically confusing presentation about enterprise archictecture. I thought about how tight things are here. People are in close proximity to each other. Businesses share office walls, and students gladly use the space above as loft housing. Out west, we have space. Or, we choose to use our space. There's space out here, too, but people seem to drift back toward each other. Funny how geography can so subtley influence the atmosphere of a community.

A few more pictures: