I walk the “path” between parking lots on my way to my office. The ground is covered with wood chips, springy like the old growth trails we hike in Oregon where the ground is made of a tangle of roots, dirt, and hundreds of years of decaying wood and leaves. The trees here are evenly and perfectly spaced, all in a row, and the path is flanked by parked cars, but I walk the full length of it and for those few steps I’m transported to a place that is quiet and far away.