Turn the page to the towering stillness of an evergreen forest. Turn the page to the twinkling of a tumbling brook. Turn the page to twilight in the hills above the South Fork of the Payette River.
    A piece of me is missing, and I'm still looking for a piece I left behind. I left it nearly a year ago in the wilds of the rugged Rockies. It's in the woods near here. I remember a spring day waking after travels to the far side of the continent. I woke in the woods and looked at the crystal sky, evergreen spikes all around. I smelled clean air. I immersed myself in it, and I was happy. It's a piece of me for which I still search.
    And there's another part of me searching still. Searching for a piece of me stolen by a beautiful young woman. She gave me this slice of myself and then fled with it. She left me searching.
    Searching.
    Laying in the woods that made me happy, now aware it's unfair; I need more than clean air.
    Tomorrow I'll turn again to a river I haven't seen for a year. I'll search again for that piece of myself I left behind. And I'll know all the while where it is.
Turn the page.
Turn the page.