Westward ho! And with a glint in the sunlight, the wing of this plane shaves through the sky. Beyond its upturned tip my sleep-clotted eyes take in low mountain ranges skirting a desert city.
In the airport, i see people dressed for warmth. Should i be wearing shorts instead of wool and an insulated jacket? I grudgingly remember i'm headed to Flagstaff. Kara and Joe pick me up in her new truck, and we hit the road. A week since they arrived from Anchorage, they've been in the city too long.
We climb up, past cactus-strewn sand, north through rain to hail, fog, and snow. Soon it's icy; cars have slid off the road all around us. We await a warm reunion among the snowy pines.