This Air This Night

With traffic on the bridge passing me by in the evening air

This air, this night, riding home in a t-shirt in February's perfect dry desert air, the sun just set, my mind just clearing, the cars thinning out and the night's silences starting to take hold. All I hear is bike sounds, all I feel is wind on my skin, all I think is remember when. I'm thinking of past euphorias and what elicits them: certain songs, certain people, places, experiences, events, time, place, set. Can the words someone whispers into your ear cause euphoria? Oh yes. Can remembering someone whispering words in your ear while riding your bike home focus shadows of that euphoria painting strange highlights into unexpected fringes of you mid-commute? Yes. Whispers of whispers. A dream of a dream, perhaps. Memories that stand up to cry you to remember them. That we were in it. There. That air, that night. The stars wheeling above. And a long, drawn-out breakfast in sunshine, a prolonged sense of full like three days of an infinite capacity for authenticity and connection. A moment of being a laugh. Ear-whisper word euphoria. Yes. Get up. Go ride.