Since I was a child, my favorite part about Christmas was the long drives. Staring out the window at the endless country side, tracing lines along the horizon, imagining faces in clouds as they passed by. Line after line, highways gave way to county roads, winding through towns I would never know. My mom, always regaling some story about some person in some place, I could never really keep up but I'd try, as my eyes swayed along telephone lines, thinking of all the tethered hearts, sending love to those who could not make it home. It was these moments, held captive by our journey, these moments, where the only gift was our voice, these moments, where the silence was full, it was these moments that I cherished most. So we drove, despite our destination having already been found.