Every silver cloud has a bicycle lining.
Every shining day has two wheels in its heart.
Every golden afternoon has a ding ding bell ringing with wild abandon.
Every electric night has a bicycle with a woman speaking a language other than your own.
Each chill dawn has a bicycle leaning against a tree.
Each easy morning has a bicycle locked up at the local coffee shop. Pondering an idea.
In each fleeting moment, a spin of the pedals.
In every passing face, the promise of balanced self-propulsion.
In each revolution of the wheel, distance unrolling from your own feet.