We are in the car, driving; the landscape, the daylight, the season, everything is in flow. The mysteriously attentive corner of my eye catches a shimmy of tree, like they are dancing when they think I cannot see; the fat evergreens and the austere deciduous celebrating the spring tide, while daylight is turning down on a dimmer switch, is dissipating into the edgeless suffusion of sky, and the stars come on automatically in blinks. I have bought a new wash bag today, thinking through spring, all the way to summer. I am thinking of watching the night gather outside my tent, while I sit with a brandy and sun blushed skin, breathing in the fresh dark air. My new wash bag hangs from a tent pole.