After three hours of a northward drive, the countryside crept over the hills and I seemed more and more detached from anything I had known. The mountains started to swell into the highway, and the stretch of paved concrete became narrower. The clouds crouched and left us driving through patches of fog and dreary overcast. In this kind of weather, there is a certain calm about the air. Coupled with the plain passing rice fields and small, local farms, I sensed a lulling cool that made me feel weightless.
We took the dogs, or as I affectionately refer to this particular kind as "Sammy dogs", in honor of the late Sammy, Cameron's rabid schnauzer whom I was never particularly fond of.
And there, again, were those looming clouds. It was as if they had chased us to the end of the world. It was quiet and I could hear only my heavy breath after haphazardly trudging to the top of the dune. And the Sammy dogs pitter patter over the grit while finding a spot to pee.
I couldn't smell the ocean here. When we looked across the horizon at an endless beige haze, it looked like the Earth just ended. There was a dropping off point into an unknown abyss. I always thought the end of the world would like barren like a desert. These desert places I've been reflect the sky in a strange way. Not like a mirror, as the ocean does, but as a stoppage of energy. Like sandbags lining a flood, it stops all movement and motion forward. The ocean seemed so far from the coast and the sky seemed so lifeless, reflective of our imminence.
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