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  • I remember you taking this a little bit south of Saluda, after we'd finally gotten out of the Piedmont and the land was steeper, deeply rolling foothills, and now this broad rise where everything seemed to flatten for a second. The sun trailed just over the horizon. Both kids were asleep. You'd climbed into the front seat and leaned across as I drove, pointing the camera.

    "Is it cold out there?" It was like you wanted to make sure we were leaving warm weather behind.

    "Feel the window," I said.

    I wanted to reinforce the feeling that this wasn't just another move, another attempt at trying to live somewhere else, but a return to some sort of home ground. Two years of living in Argentina had seemed to completely dissolve over the last three weeks, the flight back from Buenos Aires, the guest bedroom in my parents' house in Florida, hotel rooms in Jacksonville and Savannah and Folly Beach. I said something about the winter sky and the forest in the South, how you could see the outlines of everything like squirrels' nests.
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