I trip on exposed roots, stumble back in time to my old routes, climbing mountains on tiny tired feet – are we there yet? I would have to ask, because I didn’t know what “there” looked like, only “here.” Here, now, is a two-step forest: two steps and you’ve passed through it, two steps and you see the cars on the other side. For two steps, I’m here, and then I’m there already, past the exposed roots, past the moment of a memory of mountains, back to my well-paved city routes.