the map, is
still a shunting line, now superseded much
of its length by .
Fording Oregon's Willamette
River twice before turning south, I set the cruise control
and wake up on a bench by California's Klamath River, officially
a wild water rustling like the leaves of a clear-cut forest, where
crows are squawking over crumbs.
is that?" I ask at a gas station's pump. She shrugs
her shoulders. Further down the road, Mount Shasta's stark white-powdered face confronts
the mundane world with "mysterious
lights and sounds."