She did not disturb me as I drove through the torrent of weather; she sat darkly, a quiet passenger patiently waiting for our pilgrimage to end. No street lights lined the old country roads. The headlights, reflecting on heavy raindrops and revealing red-faced foliage swirling to the aria of gusting breezes, were our only beacon as the full Moon remained secret; cloaked by a shroud of raven brume. The instrument panel emitted a blue light that echoed ghostly hands on the steering wheel. After some time, traversing the state in silence, we turned onto the oyster shell lane leading to our humble cottage, a single lantern aglow in the tallest window guiding us to shelter. Halting the vehicle and killing the engine, still seated, our eyes forward, only then did she sigh, “Home…”.