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We drove up, up, up on winding roads in moving fog. We ascended so high into mountains that a lake of clouds lay beneath. We visited Mountainside on the mountainside and saw some friends I had forgotten to remember lately. We followed trails through the woods, asking each other what the other would do if they were in the Hunger Games, and we got a little sunburned. We got lost in a labyrinth of colored string and left with a bag of yarn and stories of French Huguenots and abandoned "ghost families." Lakeside, we took note of everything and peace was near in gentle waves and swimming mallard ducks and the sweetest breeze that dances with your hair. We ate the most delicious Himalayan food I have tasted in thirty years of life. And we drove, down, down the winding roads in setting sun, back to home to sleep in our own bed.

big bear, calif.
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