Pale yellow sun crossing low to the south, Where snow-covered roads tumble over the horizon Frigid quicksilver too lazy to reach double digits An arctic chill cutting through another stillborn day
Impossible and impenetrable, this weather leaves bikes idle Piled in a riot of colors against grey concrete walls Tires still gritty from autumn's last rainy rides Empty and silent, lifeless in the gloom
And gloomy in their lifelessness
Daydreams become more vivid Smells and sounds long absent remain Plans for excursions beyond the map's white paper edge The feel of aluminum in the hand on a warm Spring day
A long day listening to turning wheels Birds flicker at the thin edge of vision Lilac and clover and new corn in unfenced fields Tar bubbles and dragonflies, and so much green
So much green - even spilling onto the edge of the road
Here's a bicycle, prepared but not yet ridden So much glittering promise in those old wheels See the spokes turning in sunlight? Hear the crisp-clean(*) chain? Settle into ancient drops and saddle and let the day begin
So much debate about Masi and Hetchins Creates too much confusion on these drowsy days What is right? What is wrong? Who is still guessing? Which is worth the most to the "whom" we have created?
If this bike is worth one dollar, then who much could it be worth to ride it? Five? Ten?
How much am I willing to pay for just one day of summer? What value do we assign warm air on bare arms? Which brilliantly-lit roads this year will we follow Over the green horizon?
Aldo Ross Middletown, Ohio
* - "Crisp-clean", NOT Krispy Kreme. AR