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Warning: Blog content is informed and inspired by the men, women, children, and bicycles that I have known.

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Saturday, September 3, 2011

Homage to Summer

You and I have traveled well together for many years.  Orange, blue, blue, yellow, white, silver blue: I have trusted you in all your incarnations.  We have seen seedlings become trees, and we have seen trees bursting with buds turn green then red then winter bare.  We have seen trees ravaged by insects and latticed by woodpeckers.  We have seen scores of trees bend and break in the path of tornadic storms.  We have seen trees cut, quartered, dismembered, mulched, and then hauled away by earsplitting trucks.  We have seen trees in splendor and in despair.
It is now October of our accumulated years together.  The trumpeter swans have returned to winter in the nearby lake; the hummingbirds have all flown to sunnier climes.  The nights are getting longer and soon you and I will part company for six full moons.  While I retreat to my chair to read beside the fireplace, you will stand in wait behind locked doors. 
As the ground thaws and the trees grow pregnant with buds, I shall leave the warmth of the house to cross the dormant lawn.  Ever so carefully, with failing eyes, I will turn the dial clockwise, counterclockwise, then clockwise again.  Reluctant, the battered lock will release and the doors to the shed will fold open like rose petals in the spring.  
There I will find you with dust clinging to your lean frame and flat tires looking forlorn from the long winter.  No matter.  I will dust you off and air you up and we will ride through the forest in reverence, breathing in pine, dazzled by the light.

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