You would have loved the drive.
I picked only a direction. In truth, Direction picked me. She didn’t tell me much about herself, only that she leaned toward the sunset.
Sun had already set behind hills, brushing the few lingering clouds with vivid magenta and orange.
We drove through valley after small town after glade after smaller town, till the road began to decline. Windows half-down, wind drowning out the engine, heater cranked a bit above normal to keep me warm.
And then the trees.
Oh the trees.
The scents that wafted in were hard to name.
A cluster of trees ran along the road for a quarter mile or so. My body knew the scent, but not from any memory of trees I’d encountered before. It had the virility of pine, without the sharpness.
No, an herb, think cinnamon or turmeric, and pine and cedar. But not that. Woody and sweet and effervescent. But not quite! I drank deep and it was everything I needed in that moment.
A bit further along, different trees. Different scent. Equal seduction, but lighter, more elusive, needing fuller lungs to capture it.
All along I felt sea ahead of me, felt more than thought. When I decided to turn around, the compass and I realized we had gone much more south than west, but it didn’t matter because it felt oceanward and that made all the difference.
The moon arrested me as I turned around mid-road: full, bright, a pale yellow wolf’s eye in the night, stalking atop a crest of cloud wisps, infusing each with that raw, carnivorous light.
On the return, I waited for the trees, expectant, and was not disappointed, though I almost missed them.
Drowsiness tempted me, while the dim terrain and the starkness of the high beams banished all but a hint of the magic and mystery.
I counted the miles and the minutes and cycled the brisk air till safely back in my low-rent sanctuary.