Rarely does one get a chance to re-enact one’s childhood. The simple pleasure of staring out the side window of a car for minutes as the country passes you is something I get to experience rarely but as we fly from Wichita to Oklahoma City my gaze drifts from copse to copse of trees punctuated with overpasses, hay bales, and a car from the 1950s or 1960s abandoned in a well-tended field.

El Dorado lake has its surface crested by logs and other pylons that make it look like the last resting place of a collection of decapitated Ents.

There are tiny gifts of friendship that in my life I have come to value greatly. Being able to cross the landscape and safely daydream is one of them.