I live in a valley surrounded
by mountains, and it's always cloudy and always cold, and I go to work and
come home from work in the dark.
On a Saturday morning, I decide to take my laptop on the road and find
someplace quiet to write. I drive east out toward the mountains, and
civilization thins. I am still unable to find a secluded spot to park so I
keep driving. I find myself on a winding one-way street with a steep
incline, snaking its way up the foothills and toward the blue-green haze
of the Cascades. The news program on my radio gradually begins to fade
into a sea of static. When the voices are completely gone and I am alone
in the car with just that soft crackle in my ears, I realize that I have
longer than I realize.