Mazama, Washington felt like a hazy ride through the tunnel of love.
A ride that began with good intentions never quite sailed through into daylight.
Togetherness splintered like mesquite trees in a summer storm.
The end of trust appeared unannounced and unaccounted for. Another gash which arrived without a hint of gathering despair.
Up in Mazama Washington, when nobody was watching, the tunnel of love caved in.
