I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud...
There’s a hill, maybe half a mile from my house, just across from Rondout Creek. A small dirt driveway snakes its way up, then curves into the woods, so you can’t see—from the road—where the driveway ends, or what’s at the other end.
Its destination doesn’t matter.
At the sides of that path, a thick swath of periwinkle carpets the woods, a deep glossy gre…