On the last day of our trip to the Nevada High Desert in December, my husband and I drove across BLM land from Imlay to Lovelock. It was a mild day and ground fog prevented us from seeing more than a few yards beyond the hood of our green Land Rover. The dirt road on which we were traveling was rutted and muddy and often narrowed to one lane. I warned my husband , “If a vehicle approaches we won’t see it until it’s on top of us.” Not a minute later my husband, eagle-eyed, braked for a steer in the middle of the road. We peered through the fog at it and it at us. Looking around, we observed other cattle staring at us too. The difficulty with which I discerned the outlines of these enormous animals reminds me of how I perceive life lately: strained.