There's Lightning Bolts

Soaring through the cottonseed wind, sun pouring over shoulders, a warm balm of fresh vitamin E, made soothing massage by the cool breeze, the zipper of my jacket beating rhythmically against my back as the rusty frame I ride glides gracefully along the greenway, propelled by eager limbs, eager for more, more of this greenery, more of that blueness against that whiteness, more of the faces smiling, acknowledgement, yeses all around and we sail, sail into evening when the screen flickers for hours, weaving a story in shafts of light that fall squarely into images becoming music, the fiddler keeping time, keeping this story going as we drift along the invisible paths I trust cut stone into grass, grass cut into concentric circles, circling the sky little birds swoop low while the aeroplane flies high, higher still the hills climb as gears shift downward, now upward, the brakes applied generously as the traffic light approaches, approaching the final turns, the terminal twists bringing us back to examine bruises on shins and shiny new shoes, the old pedal companions busted and sad, exhausted and ready for sleep, dreaming of a world without feet.

- Minneapolis