Let this post just be about the ride.
September steam and tree farm rows, carpeted with copper needles and pressed down by mid-night rain. Let it just be about three boys hidden down inside three men, turning and turning and turning and turning their pedals over again. Let this one post not be about life or death, just another batch of words.
Not deep, nothing heavy, crossed some fences undetected. Torn by smilax, gorged on by ticks, bikes fall away. We float through the mist.
I can hardly breathe because the air is so thick, but it is just another bike ride- feel the burn, light the wick.