Half naked maple trees flank black asphalted highways. The empty branches are surrounded by evergreens that warm their trunks and roots until they wake again in Spring. Green road signs float by and mile markers tell us what we already know; the road is long ahead, and time doesn’t care how long it takes us to get there.

We arrive, worn from the road. One person’s destination is another person’s escape. Who left when I arrived and why?

© zaji, 2016