sunday

8:30 am 85 degrees

he begs for his bike rides. every day. we live at the bottom of a bowl, the trailhead, any way out is uphill both ways. i’m a grump with chicken legs, riding a bike with no gears in the heat of the day. i give in to the simple pleasures because i’m guaranteed a laugh. because he’ll remember this. and so will i.

we head out early. it’s hard work, but he’s laughing all the way and to be quite honest, so am i. the wind feels good and our water is cool. ice cold.

this is us on any given weekend. mom and kid. pedaling uphill both ways. we stop to catch our breath. my breath. i cannot believe how hard this is. this hill. this bike. this life. this kid. it’s kicking my ass but in the good way, burning the back of my throat with each intake of air. life is quenched only with water and genuine laughter. 

it’s all okay. even when it hurts. i guess it means we’re getting somewhere.

our destination is the park. the snowcone topped with ice cream. the best creek for rock throwing. the playground, the pigeons, the train whistle.

timing has it today that we see familiar faces. river is instantly embarrassed, “take my helmet off!” he can’t face her until he’s himself again. i feel the same but i am the grownup and have no legs to hide behind. we get off our bikes and find ourselves grounded in the world of people. they hug and kiss. we smile.

this town is so small. especially for like-minded folks. it’s refreshing to talk and watch the kids play. to fumble with words for a bit as we find our footing. i’ve never been alone with you, although our kids have grown up together. their lives have intersected long before their first memories were made. there’s comfort in that. in that place where we are similiar. in how the year has passed in it’s strangely parallel way.

we walk a line hand in hand. connect the dots, four across. boy, girl, boy, girl. we are the paranthesis to these children, our children.  they hop and skip and so do we. boy, girl.

and then we get back on our bikes and ride home.
uphill both ways.

darkness has a hunger thats insatiable
and lightness has a call thats hard to hear
i wrap my fear around me like a blanket
i sailed my ship of safety til i sank it
i’m crawling on your shores

there’s more than one answer to these questions
pointing me in a crooked line
the less i seek my source for some definitive
the closer i am to fine 

~indigo girls