The Boys' Own Annual

I like this image because of its title and design, but I am not sure what to say about it. It's 9:52 a.m. and I am late for work, picking out images and posting them to my blog, listening to The Beatles. It is oddly warm out for the middle of December. The weather is getting stranger and stranger: warm Decembers, a little snow, a little rain. Sun. Hurricane. The trees at our house in the Adirondacks have been decimated by the strong winds and strange weather, creating a regular need for someone with a chainsaw to cut them out of the woods, from across the driveway, and from across the stairway of the old camp, which was the victim of a diseased, but tall, tree that fell across the stairs, cracking the railings apart. We asked our caretaker last weekend why all the trees seemed to be dying and falling down. He said they are rotting from the inside, like all of us, getting old, getting weak, giving in.