Vernal Equinox

An update: The puppy, feared lost, has been spotted following its mother. Now my heart can rest more easily.

Today, the sun over the mountains was especially beautiful, and brings promises of even more spectacular sights as we head out on the land this weekend to sand sculptures (hoodoos). We'll head across to Bylot Island on Sunday before heading out on our truly big adventure on Monday, when we'll be going out with Inuit guides and a school group to hunt a seal. We're heading out to the floe edge on skidoos followed by kamotiks. Dear readers, I am excited, but also have a healthy respect for the cold we're going to experience. Thankfully, I am surrounded by supremely knowledgeable people who have a back room full of Arctic-ready supplies. Expect some spectacular -- and potentially very bloody -- photographs early next week.

Endless sky.

Morning sun, still slowly working its way up the sky.

We've now gained about an hour of sunlight in the evenings, which means that, in our nearly two weeks here, we've gained approximately 2 hours of daylight. Incredible. And, while equinox now means that all places in the Northern hemisphere have more sunlight than darkness, the change here is noticeable -- in the demeanour of the community members, in the temperature of the sunlight, in the air, in the mornings and evenings, in the spectacular sunrises and sunsets that seem to go on forever. I never grow tired of looking at the landscape here, at the sky and light, the snow and shadow. It is truly a remarkable place.

And today marked the last day of my final full week of student teaching in my degree. We're out on the land on Monday, then I'm teaching Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, and then it's PD days and afternoon events for the children that Brooke and I are coordinating until we head home.

Halfway through and I can already feel the momentum building, driving this wonderful experience to its conclusion. There is still an incredible amount to learn, to experience, and to reflect on, and the thought of leaving makes my heart heavy. I know already that I will miss the crispness of the air, the startlingly beautiful landscape, the community of the school.

But change is the way of life here and elsewhere, whether in daylight, in shadow, or in the ending of incredible journeys.

(Don't make the mistake of thinking my thoughts are entirely turned to finishing up, though! There's still seal to eat, students to teach, sand sculptures to photograph, and an amauti belt that needs braiding!)