Picture this. The sky is lit blue, the kind of blue that comes in paint cans and drips down the sides and onto our hands and down our arms and on our elbows and on your nose and tickles and makes us giggle at its blueness because it’s just so blue. And the sun is warm. It’s warm like the smell of chocolate chip cookies and hot cocoa and mashed potatoes with gravy and fuzzy blankets and pillow fights and the slight glow of a lamp while you read your favorite book at midnight. But the breeze – the breeze is wild, wild like the birds who float through it and dance in it and become it. The kind of breeze that floats up your back and twirls through your hair and starts to dance with you because you know it likes you. It makes you feel like you are made for more than just a gentle drift through space. And the clouds make silly faces as the mountains start to roll over and whisper awe. So your eyes become your most prized possession and your head starts to turn upward and off the deserted highway because you can’t help but picture it all.