On Friday, I rode and rode and rode. when i wanted to speed, i sped. when i was enthralled i slowed. mostly i let the scenery determine the pace, and it was pleasant.
i drove down streets i had never seen and would not recognize again. i drove until i ran out of road, and then i got off and walked for a while before returning to my ride.
i rode past ponds and lakes suffused with the death of so many petals that only a week ago heralded spring in it’s crowning.
i tasted every instant of that hour. i breathed flowers and grass and manure and water. my knee felt the grass along the side of the road while my face felt the breeze off the farm fields around me. I watched lives end on my visor and never knew those tiny names.
i drove past farms and homes that i wanted to stop and walk up to the door and knock and go inside and share these peoples lives. To touch and taste and savor every morsel like candy i could eat from the inside out.
i rode until it was simply too dark to make out the green of the trees versus the grass through the dark tint of my visor. and in the dying light of this day of failures, i found me. I was a doddering old man, destroying unknown mushrooms with a cane, miles from civilization on a road that no one remembered existed. And I looked up and reminded me, go home.
Sometimes, I need that.
Loved it! Great imagery.
Where’s home?