I expected there to
I expected there to be hills or maybe vineyards, but when I flicked on the high-beams, I suddenly realized that I was driving through a grove of giant redwoods, their great round trunks edging right up to the freeway, huddled close, just like the deer that looked up and watched me go by, the top down, the thousands and thousands of stars bright above my head, the cold air smelling like a campfire I once cooked marshmallows over when I was nine, and the thought that this was all perfect, perfect, and most perfect.
