"Hands" by Jewel reminds me of listening to the in-flight radio on my way to Idaho. I can almost see the the guy seated across the aisle a few rows up, hunched over in his seat - documenting his life. He was considering his journal with a purposefulness that made me envious; and then he flipped the page, teasing me with the elegant cursive script he had carefully recorded there. I was doubly jealous, I didn't believe I could ever write in quite that way. It was on that trip that I realized that travel gives me a kind of peace I can't find any way else. I think about how there were actually tumbleweeds and how wild it was when a wolf chasing a coyote ran within 100 yards of us on base - and no one but me seemed surprised. I was visiting one of my oldest friends, Lucy. We talked about our present and about our past, about the futures we hope never come to pass. I haven't seen her since. Her baby shower is in a few weeks.