The surrounding forest looked like the scene of an impending crime when we pulled over, but now has a majestic-ness to it that I commit to memory. I’m tempted to step into the tree line and retrieve some rocks to erect a cairn at the side of the road. This spot is no longer just some insignificant point halfway between Bellevue and Wenatchee. It’s the place where my misery died, and the rest of my life began.
