Friday, October 3, 2014

At night, after I get home, with groceries, I have a choice, and I opt to go out for a ride.  And when, in gear, I get out the front door, about 10 PM, I head across town via bike lanes, south under the Washington Monument, to Hains Point.  To exorcise the poisons of stress chemistry by the river under a tilted half moon, and each time I'm brave and do it, I understand better the great field that is the National Mall with its trees, I understand the layout of the town, and with all the lights and buildings this way and that the sense of seeing through an insect's eye, vast changes occurring in the periphery.  I ride the loop.  The legs work.  Leaning over the handlebars I feel the calm of a natural predator, the shark swimming, early man stalking prey, steady, eyes open.  It intrigues my senses to see raccoons stop as I come back toward the monuments, to see the foxes gallop small furry bear horse dogs, loping magnificently in this spit of land where a larger animal would have a hard time keeping to itself.   I could have done the hills, but it's been a good ride, past midnight when I climb the small cobblestone hill below the particular fountain that sits above the street where I live, bamboo and tree hanging above the street above the parked cars, the dirt bank with ivy.

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