The road led into the mountains. Into the mountains and through them.
Rain began to pour, but only for a moment. Long enough for me to wander through the park's visitor center and snag a free pin from the welcome desk.
The pin was green. It said that I'd found my park in Shenandoah National Park. I tossed it in my backpack's front pocket, next to the tiny book on the park's Skyline Drive that I’d found at a housewares store in Brooklyn four months earlier. The book had compelled me to do the drive, or more precisely, I was compelled by the feeling I had when I held it.Read More