The road
The road wasn’t any different from the last time they had travelled it. They travelled this way often, and each time the woman would strive to find new markings to measure the journey by, yearning for something novel to pass the time. Sometimes she felt that each day was measured by the journeys taken along the road. They travelled this way so often that sometimes she dreamt of it; in her dreams they would take the last turning and drive along a path filled with trees dripping with emeralds, gilded summer air filling her lungs.