The highway curved along the coastline in long gray ribbons, ocean on one side, cliffs on the other, Driftwood humming steady beneath Micah’s hands. The driver side window was cracked just enough for salt air to move through the cab, cool against sun warmed skin. Somewhere behind him sat three empty coffee cups, a rain jacket he kept forgetting to take inside, and a yellow legal pad folded beneath a stack of utility maps.
The playlist drifted between songs without urgency. A low guitar line. A voice carrying more weather than performance.
Micah drove one handed, elbow against the door, watching fog drag itself slowly over the water below. NorthArc had called twice already about tomorrow’s field inspection. He ignored both. Not out of rebellion. Just because the ocean was louder. At a turnout overlooking the cliffs, he slowed but didn’t stop. He almost never stopped.
The song changed again.
For the moment, everything in his life still fit inside recognizable shapes. Work. Coffee. Rain. Road. Motion. A body that obeyed him. A mind that felt like his own. Driftwood rolled north along the coast, steady as breath. And somewhere beneath the music and engine noise, something old and tidal waited quietly for him to notice it.
Listen to the playlist on Spotify
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