The Elder smiles a crescent moon, and says, “We can do that, if you want”
Donning the uniform, it’s warm/enveloping/comforting.
Stairs, rails, puddles, hallway, clearing, garage door.
The padlocks click easily, and give way to my anxious fingers.
(Heart beating)
Light flushes through, and the darkness gives way
Steel, paint, leather, chrome, Spirit.
Hi My Baby.
Fingers graze over the riser, linger at the clutch, and trace the Diamond longingly. Home.
Wet ground for sure. Doesn’t matter now, does it?
(Some days are good. Some are bad. Not enough Time has passed. I know.)
I’m out, burning, and waiting. For it to subside.
Shift, 60, shift 80, my eyes start to tear, 85. Please.
I see the puddle, and The Elder’s glance back at my loud laughter.
He meant to do that.
Slowing and breathing, the quick breaths become longer, more deliberate.
Deliberate. In.
Deliberate. Out.
35, and just feeling. Sun glints and the tremendous disappointing weight
Leaves me
A thanks, and a look forward.
The release is intense.
Wait.
Wait for it.
Deliberate Out.
And all I can do…is cry.
-- Mercedes Martin-Raya, who is the best rider I know.
