Bicycle

I've never been very good at riding a bike without holding onto the handlebars. Perhaps it was my lack of balance that kept me from lifting my arms to my side like an airplane and gliding along the road as I'd seen many people do, or my inability to suppress the fear that my steering wheel would start to wobble and toss me sideways from my bike into the ditch. I had attempted it; holding my breath and concentrating I'd quickly let go as if to startle my fear, the wheels of my bike spinning quickly along the asphalt as I inched like a shadow beneath the street lamps, and for one brief moment I would lay my hands to the side and fly. Then the weight of my body would shift in uneven ways, the bike wobbling almost uncontrollably, forcing my hands forward again to stop my moment of flight. Once I had actually been successful, in fact, I was able to ride my way home almost entirely sitting up, hands to the side, my shoulders leaning backward as the wind curled around me through my hair. One chance of many, my hands lay to my side and I floated freely on my path, the excitement of the fall residing in the back of my mind. I felt like a weightless body on a unicycle, a mind atop a mountain, a flag waving carelessly in the breeze as I flew so close to the ground. I was flying without wings, but I was still holding to the ground, and from it I was finally lifted from my fear and the urge to hold on.

_______________________________________________

A little writing from my room as the storm outside passes through.