Scene change. Arrival without hope.

The sky had chosen on its own accord to lower itself in all its West Coast winter smudginess obscuring my view of the mountains.
A sense of liberation suggested by the morning light was held by the immaculate anticipation of newly fallen snow.

A black thin dog turning its head around in question to it's master: "Am I going in the right direction?"
"Do you approve?" made its hurried expression outside my window.

: -wheel- inland- sun fucked- it follows