Earlier in the week, Roediger, the aristocratic basset (despite the drool!), and I climbed to the top of the world, though it wasn't even the top of the mountain. The valley below--in baby-blue pastels--along with shorter peaks creates that impression, as does the sheer feeling of ascent.

And it is where the basset stands that we heard afternoon wolf howls on a number of occasions, but only in the winter. They'd come from all directions, north and south, above and below, eerie and awe-inspiring. Unable to differentiate between responses and echoes, we felt disoriented and, for once, I was glad not to be concealed in the blue snow shadows cast by the Moon.

And on a different (inappropriately dressed!) hike, I stand not too far from a deer carcass, that very "natural vanitas," which I photographed a few weeks ago. The wolves were here too, as the deer was dismembered by them, tossing its skull several feet away.

The latter now rests surrounded by Autumn's unchallenged advance.

And I? I secretly hope that no one takes it, so that I could photograph it again, at a different turn of Nature's cycle.