One Last Ride

A warm wind blows across my face and up the sleeves of my jacket. Like a painting orange and yellow and brown are all around me.  The leaves crunch and crackle as my wheels plow over them. The sun dapples in and out rushing past in a blur. My sunglasses filter their epileptic fits.

A light musty smell. Then smoke from a nearby fire in someone’s backyard.

I count helmets—one, two…I quicken my pace.

Three. All there. Their shouts echo up through the trees. I press the shutter in my memory. Keep this November day forever.

Image credit:  Dundee Photographics /


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