The night’s clouds trap a faint orange afterglow of the daylight, making clear the jagged silhouette of pine trees on the hill. To my left, I can see the sky burst with a distant lighting storm. I wish I could stop the car to watch, but there is no room on the shoulder of the narrow road. The scent in the air promises it will rain soon.

The street winds into the woods as I reach the bottom of the hill. Here, the trees muffle the sounds of the city to oblivion, leaving only the chirp of a hundred insects and the quiet purr of the car’s engine as I make my way around every familiar turn. I usually take this road at 40 or 50, but tonight I go slowly in order to take it all in. There is no one else out here.

I savor the forest, visible only in the dome of my headlights, pitch dark everywhere else. The shadows fight to keep a grip over every twist and rise of the road, but always the light reaches the spot, though new shadows overtake the light beside me. The woods bring a deep chill to the air pouring in my open windows and sunroof. With it comes the wonderful dry scent of the woods: dust and pine and a thousand other subtle odors. The cool is welcome after a blistering hot day.

The engine races as I downshift for the one tight turn before the road begins to head back up a large hill. It is a good thing I am not going as fast as usual, because tonight, there is suddenly a young moose standing in the road before me. I stop and stare in awe at the majesty of the creature. A massive brown body somehow firmly supported by four gangly legs. It turns its head and looks at me, then slowly continues its path across the asphalt and vanishes into the trees, leaving me only with the memory of its beauty as I depress the gas again.

I come back down the hill further on. Here, the pines thin out, and are slowly replaced by several deciduous trees, braches stretching out above the road. The road dips down to the bridge, and I speed up for the straightaway. As I do, I am struck by the rich, humid smell of swamp at the Little Spokane River. The temperature drops another ten degrees over the water, and I can feel the hairs rise on my arms.

I turn the bend after the bridge, and see the first light, a streetlamp ahead. A porch light follows. Then another. Before long, I have transitioned back into the city, and am again amazed that a place as wild can be found so near suburban life.

Perhaps I will drive the long way home again tomorrow.