Dear Molly, You went to visit your dad in Boise over spring break in your junior year in high school. You were reading Siddhartha for English class and adopting a similar philosophy regarding the rejection of earthly sustenance. But not to let go; to hold on. You and dad were going to drive back to Ohio via Wyoming, Montana, Dakotas…But it was early in the trip in the Sawtooth Mountains, coming down a pass through late spring snow that you noticed how thin time had become – how closely past and present were to one another. It was like the hearts of the men and women who had long ago been buried in the wilderness were beating softly, trembling the fresh fallen snow off the tips of the pine branches and your car passing years as well as miles.