081413 #worm A few years later, they're on their way back from another road trip, this time in the north woods.They've replaced the clunky old wagon with a newer car, one with conservatively supple lines and an air-conditioner. This is her car. She's driving. A white line whirs by followed by another and another and another and another until they blur into meaninglessness and Ltiky quits watching. He looks over at his wife instead. She has what may or may not be half a smile on her face. The numbers on the digital clock bob in a long minute. It is nearly midnight. A bright wash of light fills the car, illuminates the set angle of her chin, makes her squint, silhouettes the murdered bugs on the windshield, peaks with a white rushing noise to the left and immediately dies, replaced by a faint red glow which disappears into back there somewhere. Still no one speaks. Ltiky wants to but he doesn't know what to say. So he looks out his window. He sees a dark line of pines floating by, ancient and secretive. He imagines himself among them, feeling the cold wet air brush through them, seeing every detail of bark, dirt, and needle up close with animal eyes. He knows that beyond the pines the earth grows soft and lush, and a beach begins, and where the beach drops off from consciousness a sea begins, and where the sea begins are waves, and waves, and waves--relentless, gentle, powerful. From inside the speeding warm capsule he longs for those waves. Would he feel the same if he were actually alone out there, after midnight, with a laden breeze telling stories of faraway shores, under a sky full of staring stars --