|Pavement imagines a bicycle|
Monday's warm spring showers washed the day's dust off.
I paused at a stop sign to watch the cars roar past, headlights twinkling the drizzle.
I thought to take photos of their streaking passage, but the images did not please me.
This one did: my machine's image spackled across the pavement.
My watts kept me warm. My spin carried me home.
The cactus and I had water running down our skin.
I'm the one on the corner with a bicycle, catching raindrops on my tongue.
The cactus is the other one, shorter, greener, with more spikes.
Both happy with the spring rain.
A BMW SUV changed lanes on a quiet street with big puddles to avoid drenching me.
A woman in a black car reversed back into her driveway to let me know she saw me, recognized me, waved and smiled back, umbrellaling me with her dry thoughts for a damp cyclist.
Umbrella me with otherness. Hope at me in the falling water.
Fire mirror neurons in an infinite regress of back scattered subliminal.
You. I. Get up. Go ride.