It has been one year.
I'd like to make a bet with myself to see how many times I try to take the detour, still, out of muscle memory (cars are, oddly or not-so-oddly, extensions of ourselves; I read an article somewhere that explained this, how people always instead of saying "He hit my car with his car!" will say "He hit me!").
I will miss the Sun Valley detour, which takes one past lakes and marshy ditches; you might see a heron someday and almost swerve off the road, you might see a turtle and stop to tote him away from danger.
It made my day yesterday, though. It is so rare that things get easier for me, instead of more difficult.
The leaves are purple and yellow.
The gulls are back.
I dreamed of yellow leaves.
I dreamed of plummeting for miles and landing softly as thistledown.
The gulls, and the winds.
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