2011-11-03 - 5:19 p.m.
Just now, riding my bike, the sun at my back, I was laboring up a long hill. I stood, pushing hard, the bike doing that beautiful, wobbly back-and-forth thing beneath me, that back-and-forth that looks like a seesaw, or a merry-go-round, or which feels, somehow, like jumping on a bed over and over. It was a comfortable feeling, the bike settling into what it is, which is a tool for people, a perfect and simple machine. I pushed, and it wobbled, easily, over and over. I was, for sure, mesmerised, lulled like an ocean-starer, like a chair-rocker, like a TV-watcher, even. I was, though breathing hard, at ease.
And then, sun at my back, I noticed my shadow. Amid all that back and forth, it stood still. Amid all that pushing, pulling, all that right-left-right-left off into forever, the shadow of my torso and neck and head stood still, perfectly upright, stationary on that rushing asphalt. My legs pumped and the bike wobbled, but the rest of me was gliding. All I've ever wanted is to glide. It was beautiful, and the thing making it that way was me, and I never even knew about it until just now.
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