Dried white saltwater lies on the windscreen like stretchmarks. And so the labour of summer days is revealed. As we drive home, I look through the water at the long bright road, and I think about all the ways we birth this world into being. The choices we make, in innocence or with a recklessness we later try to excuse as someone else's fault. The striving, and the faltering strength which must be gathered again and again. The importance of right breathing.