Runcible Blog

riding down the winding country road
early enough to
pass the cows shading themselves
nary a sound
except for rolling wheels
saddle squeaks
rushing air drying the eyes

shaken by forgotten silence
transported back to 15
riding down winding country roads
on a too-large, handed down bicycle
the quiet, breathing, the wheels
wandering effort
was that when we first met?
no, it must have been
much earlier

returning to now at 30
passing the swamp on the left
minding the bumps in the ground
the blood pulses
we meet again
and then
the traffic.