One month.

That's how long I have until I fly back to the States. This fact has been sinking in, and I've frantically begun to wring every droplet out of Oxford that I can muscle. I'm taking the extra time to explore a nook of the city centre that I had neglected thus far, I'll take my camera out and snap a few discreet shots of the sights that I pass everyday. But I still have time for that. Oxford is not going anywhere in the next four weeks. The buildings will be just as majestic, the cobble stone paths just as precarious, the city centre just as bustling. The faces with which I have grown familiar are disappearing, though. I will continue to briskly walk my familiar routes, but no longer with the chance of crossing paths with a friendly face, from which would issue an American or British accent. Both are leaving. The Hilary term ends this week and the Oxford student population is dispersing, natives to their homes and visitors to their travels. With the end of the week comes the onslaught of goodbyes, perhaps forever. Hence my desperation. Oxford, albeit brimming with historical value, quaint antiquity, and unique beauty, is only a city, and a city is only as precious as its inhabitants. And the inhabitants that I hold dear are moving on. They were never meant to become permanent fixtures, but I can't help but desperately wish that my snapshots could hold more than just an image of them. So yes, I still have a month left. At the end of this week I will be leaving Oxford to travel, and I'll return to Oxford when those travels are finished. But I know that much of the hold that this place has on me will dissipate in my time away. So I'm grasping and scraping and treasuring and pondering.