My vacation starts in the black of early morning. The sunrise over the Nebraska plains is stunning, and I shared some warm conversation with my wife as our son sleeps in the back seat. When Betsy falls asleep, I put on my headphones and listen to the music that will define this period of happiness in my life.

I entered the art building where I lived a college career. Everything looked exactly the same, but the proportions seemed completely different. Like clothes that don’t fit anymore or a familiar face that you can’t place a name to.

I explore an abandoned war memorial. I park at a deserted gas station. Trespassing to discover messages of peace. Overgrown sculptures. Rust. Hope. The roar of the highway. The place seems absurdly relevant, and I take some photos.

I lay my hands on a piece of pottery made by a friend I haven’t seen in years. I feel the impressions of her fingers on the clay and she seems very near.

During restless sleep I dream of a girl I have never met. She lives in fear in a large house next door. Her fear is calmed by my friendship. When I awake, I try to remember her name.

Time spent with family. I rationalize the pride of parents. I stand in silent awe in the realization that a sibling is an adult. Memories of childhood.

The joy of an evening with friends missed dearly.

The sun sets on Nebraska as I drive home deeply content. New plans for the future. Anticipation.