This is when

This is when she feels the freest.

Barreling down Highway One towards Santa Cruz in early morning. The ocean, endless, to her right, in all the colors of blue that blue can be. Pastures, eucalyptus groves, strutting clouds, solitary sand dunes, sheer-terror rock cliffs and autumn colors conspire to pleasure her on the journey.

This is when she feels the safest.

Cocooned in the driver's seat, soothed and energized by Irish ballads, Elgar symphonies and Bob Seger's Silver Bullet band. The music carries her spirit in all directions while her body stays the course.

This is when she feels the most herself.

Her thoughts are her own and uncensored, free-floating, not sticking to anything in particular, not needing to or making sense.

This is when she feels her heart and mind open.

Nothing is impossible or dire. She is aware of timelessness and insignificance and presence and now.

This is when she is.