Theres summat visceral of riding the bike home on a chilled evening. As the cold wind rakes the face, creeping through the sleeve cuffs and settles into thin slacks, an awakening occurs as the nostrils flare, the skin puckers, and the limbs retract to conserve warmth. Theres no frigid escape, and the beauty is this: as my body fights to regulate itself back to the everyday temperature it desires, I will know for the next several shivering hours that I was wildly alive for a time this evening, streaking along asphalt under the stars, with gentle tunes and the earths rushed breathy companion riding me home.
Posted on: Fri, 19 Sep 2014 04:12:01 +0000
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