Last night, I woke from a dead sleep, my heart panicking. I was dreaming of that day in the Redwoods, where we said goodbye to our Airstream, knowing we needed to move on, that to move on we needed to sell it...that it was time. Yet we still ran our hands over every wall we reinstalled, the cabinets we designed and painstakingly built. I touched my fingertips to several of the rivets, remembering the nights spent with my rivet gun, tripping over the cord from the air compressor hose in the tiny space. We cried, yet I've never felt the ache for this thing of ours that's no longer ours so strongly, so physically, as I did last night. In the dream, I cried when we drove away, but I had forgotten to look back. In reality, I leaned as far as I could out the window and watched our Airstream disappear from view...and later, would cry to a static-filled radio version of the The Beatles "All You Need Is Love", on a curvy road pulling us through the most beautiful trees and coastal mountains, with morning light slipping through the branches.