The north wind shook the heavy traffic signals hanging over the intersection.

“We have to be the last hand up,” I said.

“If the last hand up is under the limit,” Luke said.

The light turned green.

Luke reached forward, slowly folded the sticky note, and put it in his wallet.

We drove the twenty miles to the property in complete silence.

March mornings in the county usually carried a hint of spring.

Today a harsh north wind rattled the bare cottonwood trees along the highway.