Eyes closed on the ride back from Icicle Gorge
The wind blowing through the windows came constant and then calmed when our speed slowed. The light through the sunroof flashed shape-shifting mosaics on my inner eyelids. Speeding up again the gusts somehow got into the trunk and whirled around and then came rushing from behind against the back of my neck, whooshing around my ears, slapping my cheeks. Shirt sleeves whipping against my arms. I opened my eyes right when Braxton was trying to take a funny picture, catching me sleeping. Our weight leaned left when the car swerved around a rightward bend and then right around a leftward, swinging our way down the side of the mountain.