But I miss you most of all

The inevitable has happened. I wore a fleece jacket to classes yesterday. Despite the sunny days over the past week during which I had no trouble pretending that late April was full spring as usual, the color of the trees and the leaves they've began to shed (excepting the eucalyptus and pines, of course) and the sudden change in ambient temperature has incentivized changes in clothing choices as well as admission that it is autumn in Canberra.

Mira, my IB companion, sincerely regretted the shorts and flip-flops she'd chosen for the predawn hours of Anzac Day; as the group of us shuffled into the bleachers that had been set up around the War Memorial at the starry hour of 4:30 am, she realized that she'd just about lost feeling in her toes. We sought out hot drinks, though, as the hundreds of seats for the Dawn Service continued to fill, and those that got there too close to the start at 5:30 stood at the top of the ampitheatre-like set up. The sun didn't rise till nearly the end of the half hour ceremony, the most light coming rather from the battery-powered candles, which had been passed out at entrance gates, as wreaths were laid, prayers and reminders of the spirit of Anzac were read, hymns and the national anthem sung, and a section of "In Flander Field" read by a young boy. I heard a kookaburra's laugh for the first time, from the trees somewhere behind us, during the moment of silence. It reminded me a bit of a chimp. The majority of B&G residents that had gone seemed to be curious international students-- one from the Netherlands, Sweden, Colombia, and of course the US. However, Mira explained that most students have probably been to the Dawn Sevice many times before as it is held in pretty much every home town, and then she gave us Anzac biscuits.

Now the short week following a public holiday weekend is half way gone, and most uni students (myself included) are spending more time with the books as the "20-80 rule" kicks in-- 20% of assessment (graded assignments or tests) in the firt term, 80% in the second.

Slipping in runs at the ends of days, I'm passed on the bike path by both commuters, well-equiped with panniers, bells, and blinkies for their daily ride from civic back to the suburbs, and mountain bikers, tearing into the evening with camelbaks and headlights. I know where they're headed and itch to join. I went to Stromlo three times in a week after a first ride there.

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Note: The title is really the line that comes after this one, but that would have been too easy. Did anyone sing it in their head?