Tonight, we're atop a hill in Zanesville, Ohio. How I would enjoy exploring this place beyond the struggle to find the campground hidden in a sylvan neighborhood close to town. The homes we passed were of mixed generations, side by side. And rising with the hills. We are nearing the place (West Virginia) where my mother was born, and where her many relatives lived.

But tonight we are here on this quiet hill, finally getting a wifi signal, and relaxing toward tomorrow's travel. As we drive the trees are becoming taller, and varied. I try to memorize all the ways the branches part and grow reaching from the trunk to the sky.

Dinner is long over, and sunset; the dogs are in. The kitchen table vibrates with my keyboard. There is another new Law and Order. It is quiet outside—and cold. All part of this season.