|Summer Sunday evenings the streets are nearly empty, and feel like mine|
There's a compulsion to ride at night, alone, glancing at the lights reflecting off the canal, staring a little too long at Venus hanging up there brilliant in the sky. A light made more vivid by the nighttime shadows. As my sight grows accustomed to the night, I turn off my lights, and ride along in the darkness, running along the water. There's no time, there's all time, there's a volcano of time erupting around me, freezing me in the position of a smiling cyclist, sculpted in position for tourists to come and stare at, for all time.
Even if I don't blog for a few days to take a summer break, you can find me there, the volcanic statue of cyclist-me, down by the canal, my final expression: grinning, spinning, looking up at the stars.