Tuesday, Aug. 07, 2018 @ 11:54 am
No Hands
I learned to ride my bicycle with no hands.
I ride down along the river dyke at sunset. A wind blowing down through the valley. My summer uniform of sundress and suede moccasins.
I lift my hands tentatively from the bars, pedal two or three turns, and then there is this lightness in my upper body, and I am free.
Arms stretched wide, the wind blowing warm around my legs.
I'm flying.
The sun about to dip behind the mountains. Crickets flinging themselves away from the tires of my bicycle.
A family grilling burgers on a picnic table. The crack of a home run hit at the ball fields. A man sleeping in a hammock strung between trees at the high water mark.
My front tire hits a bump, and my hands return to the bars.
Grind up the hill towards home.
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