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The voices of dust, the soul of dust, these interest me a lot more

than flowers, trees or horses because I take them to be stranger.

[Jean Debuffet] 

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There are things I can't do. I can't ski. Enjoy parties. Swan dive. Network. I can't flirt or swear or carol. I can't tell the difference between these things, really. I can't see faces in dreams, or make up songs in my head, or line dance responsibly. But there is one thing I can do. I can drive alone for hours, days, camp in the desert, on the coast, in the woods. The trees lull me to sleep, I wake when the sun touches my hand. I wake up smiling.

It's not much. I suspect everyone can do this. But still. This is what I do.