My shoulder kept me from riding for nearly a week. It didn't actually prevent me. The pain kept me from caring about riding, that's all. The skies have been graying. It has been a long time since I have just relaxed, too long, so I did. It lasted almost a week. Sleeping in bed, eating the boy's pudding and fruit cups as if I was performing some offsetting personal favor to myself. Balancing the appropriate amount of lethargy with the smallest and healthiest food stuffs that I had. As if.
Early this morning, after my hiatus, I began my ride in a typical light shirt and shorts combination. Ten minutes or more from my door, when I started to hit the first small inclines in the route, the season had changed. The fog, moisture and chill denied access to sky. Autumn appeared, crowding summer. My eyes scoped the ambit, the horizon line - summer: going.
I worry that I will lose interest in winter. I always do. Nobody should have to live like this. To have everything taken away from you, only because it is always moving.
I tried to explain the seasons to the boy - the tilting of the earth, the heat of the sun, circles around circles, proximities, the measuring of the years. He nodded at me as if it mattered, took off running in direction of a newer moment.
The galaxy opens, swirling with the sense of being loved.
Seasons be damned.