About three years ago, I visited my friend in Palo Alto to escape the Texas heat that had begun to take its toll. My ex-girlfriend of two and half years had broken up with me a month before. Every year since then, around August, without fail, Google Photos prompts me with the last pictures I took of her. Looking at her forlorn face in those, I always think, "Guess I should have seen that coming." The trip to the west coast in the middle of the plague was supposed to be about post-break-up catharsis. I had a call with my therapist on the day that I got there. While on the phone, I walked through the eerily idyllic streets of Palo Alto, lined with old houses retrofitted to charge two Teslas. She asked me how I felt to be there, and I looked into the distance wistfully. Instead of finding words to describe my feelings, I found a thick cloud of smoke billowing above the hills. "I think..and I might be wrong..I think there's a forest fire." I replied.
Upon this Trail
Upon this Trail
Upon this Trail
About three years ago, I visited my friend in Palo Alto to escape the Texas heat that had begun to take its toll. My ex-girlfriend of two and half years had broken up with me a month before. Every year since then, around August, without fail, Google Photos prompts me with the last pictures I took of her. Looking at her forlorn face in those, I always think, "Guess I should have seen that coming." The trip to the west coast in the middle of the plague was supposed to be about post-break-up catharsis. I had a call with my therapist on the day that I got there. While on the phone, I walked through the eerily idyllic streets of Palo Alto, lined with old houses retrofitted to charge two Teslas. She asked me how I felt to be there, and I looked into the distance wistfully. Instead of finding words to describe my feelings, I found a thick cloud of smoke billowing above the hills. "I think..and I might be wrong..I think there's a forest fire." I replied.