Bent Words

Bent Words

October 12, 2008

This is what we do.

We grab the few and far between free scraps of time by the handlebars and we find two wheels to ride. Alone on the back roads or taking the lead, we not only stretch out the miles but we feel each one; all at once inhaling the chill air on a hill's descent then greeting the welcoming warmth as we rise. We acknowledge our comrades in passing and we take the next corner a little faster (gravel be damned).

We treat days like this as a gift and say "fuck it" as we head toward the front door, passing a pile of untouched dishes in the sink. Our laundry lays unlaundered, our floors remain unswept, our grass uncut -- but what of that when there's sun to be had?

We are kings for a moment. Brave. We are the very wind in the sky. We don't know if we believe in God but we thank God for these days.

We are scared shitless by lawn ornaments passing as deer. Squirrels, racoons, low flying sparrows, slow moving turtles, unusually large bastard-sized bugs -- we respect them, we adore nature, but we wish it wasn't always so in-your-face.

We scatter fall leaves with our rear wheels, we take the side roads that we've passed every day but never had the time to take, we seek out a place for our backside's brief repose before starting again and we never apologize for our eagerness. We're not afraid of getting lost because that was exactly our intention.

We litter the airwaves with our singular sounds. Our too-loud exhaust, our quiet whir, our on-the-gas moves -- we are there, we are here and we won't be denied. This is what we do. We feel the fields as we rush by, we touch the drooping branches of trees reaching down toward us, we see, we hear, we feel, we taste -- we meet the world with all our senses.

Sometimes we forget how good it is. This life.

But not on days like today.

Written at 8:12 p.m.