In Colorado the license plates used to say “God’s Country”, back when that sort of thing didn’t raise eyebrows. Not because anybody was particularly religious, but because it was so beautiful most days it almost hurt just to look outside. To be honest though, now when I get off the plane at DIA for maybe another funeral, I don’t feel a thing for it. I could be anywhere. No rush of “Home!” in the chest.

After the most recent said funeral, my cousin and I decided for old time’s sake to go fly fishing. We went to the local sporting goods store to get me some gear, and I realized I’d need a fishing license. The kid behind the counter asked if that was for “Resident” or “Non-Resident”. I said “Resident”. He asked for my driver’s license.

I thought for a moment. Then I replied that a driver’s license wasn’t…