Not until the exit did we fall behind and watch your bus pull away and head east, thinking that you didn't know where you would be tomorrow but that you would be there first thing anyway. As always you were nonplussed and it was good that we were waiting together in Rochester at 1 AM opposite the Goto stop at 733 Monroe. Drinking tea and sharing a bag of popcorn from Hess, an impromptu beginning that would return each of us home. It was such a surprise when your bus caught up and pulled ahead of us. We traveled together on 490, then route 90, at a fixed constant of 71 MPH until you to Binghamton, Scraton, maybe, then to New York. We turned to Canandaigua and south to home and work and the multiples of concern that we were only vaguely aware. The parking lot at Blessed Sacrament, at Rutgers, is where we started.
We spoke about the craters forming in the center of the lake, visualizing it, modeling it, using video to capture it, and we drove south of the marina to Bare Hill, the boat slamming 30 MPH across the water. Ran the math on it. Did the run-up on the engineering. Past Vine Valley. Past Whiskey Point. But we kept our thoughts to ourselves.
The sun is low and on the other side of the house. It is still more night here on the patio than it is morning. And you're on your way to Greece. To Long Pond. I wonder if you're running the AC as you drive? Whether it will be busy for you or light, today? The shadows in the dill and red bee balm are still not moving. The insects still not asleep. The day still reverberates with them. And you are gone.