It's like the night we drove 600 miles from Santa Fe to Fort Worth. We could smell the cows, but we couldn't see them. The red lights from the wind turbine fields blinked like robotic fireflies. Do you remember the fog that swallowed us at that eerie hour when the divide between awake and asleep is most permeable? I was uneasy with the way the clouds settled low on the highway in smothering blankets. Quanah, Childress and Wichita Falls were ghost playgrounds. I strained at the steering wheel, as if leaning forward could hurry the earth's rotation. Nothing. And then, after some unknowable length of time, there was something. A faint softness around the edge of the earth. And I felt relief. We hadn't left the underworld, but at least we knew there was something beyond it.