“It’s not criminal, but it’s a violation of something-or-other,” Mom said in her law-gic voice. “I wouldn’t call it il-legal. More like extra-legal.” What a relief. If the Law found us, they would probably give me a medal for being so much more legal than everyone else. 

“Oh good! The horse came home after all. I knew we’d find a happy ending.” 

“After they mounted a thorough search for the horse, and a respectful time had passed for grief, I bet they adopted a buffalo,” I concluded. “Hey, what’s the difference between a buffalo and a bison?”

Back when the world was free and Mom believed she could predict the future, she aimed the farthest point in our trip at Devil’s Tower in Wyoming. More than anything else, she was visiting for the punchline.

“It’s beautiful!” Mom said, still in that ooey-gooey strawberry-shortcake voice. “This must be what enchantment feels like.”

“It’s beautiful!” Mom said, still in that ooey-gooey strawberry-shortcake voice. “This must be what enchantment feels like.”

I must have been behind a rock by the time Mom came by. The next time I heard her, she was bellowing my name from farther down the trail.

The kaleidoscope of trees and moss fell into a pattern that made sense. “I’ve been here before!” I wagged.

We ran down the paved road with the shadows of branches on our heads and the smell of clouds in our noses. Ahead, on the other left , a dirt car-trail came to meet the road. Where they came together, a fan of dirty tire prints smeared the pavement, as if nature were trying to reclaim its territory. “Look! Mom! Another road, just like you said there’d be!” I ran ahead to show her the way. “And there are sticks!” Mom hurried to catch up. “Yes! I remember that log now. This is d

“I thought you said we couldn’t get lost!” I gasped. Suddenly, the mailman van felt very far away.