We would fast forward.
We would fast forward the last day of our trip in a replay of its other days, speeding up so memory would have to stick, saying, “Remember when we climbed that rock up to the gorgeous view of the sunrise?” And you would say, “I do remember. That was this morning. Let’s do it again. Let's add more sunrise to the almanac.” And I would say, "Remember when the sky felt so incredibly huge and the earth so small?" And you would say, "Remember when the forest smelled like mint and sage?" This spot, this conversation, this creek beneath us moves. And I would say, "Remember now?"