1.26.01

The best thing about winter is its economy: the lights and heat turned low. How the others shrink away from abundant clarity and space. When my day begins, Orion's belt is over my nose, steeping cool metallic air. And as he pulls away the day expands, draping a cloak of worlds overhead. This circadian tranquility is mine alone on the walk home from the bus through the playground at the crest of the hill. Though often early evening, I'm usually the only person of a million potentials walking beside the grass field. For a few moments midway through the park, silence away from my part of the city. To the west a dazzling city bowl quietly reposing in day's brevity. I always remember to gaze in that direction. I like how the wind wafts gently from beyond to open my face and freshen it. Tonight a young man rode up on his old road bike to the bus stop in the university district just as the bus arrived. Hopping off, he deftly stowed the bike on the rack hanging from the bus front to ride aboard. I noticed he got off at my stop, which is a mile or so from where I live. I saw him pedal away, west, while I turned south. At the crest of the hill, before the skyline, I heard the distant clicking of gears out of adjustment and lowered my gaze into the darkness at the far end of the field. There among the shadows, one moving thinly, the man, his bike, and a box atop the handlebars so large he had to crane his neck to see around it. He held it steady with one hand. Our paths converged and I couldn't help noting, "You're quite talented." More so for the smile he managed to return. A few minutes later, I observed him climbing the stairs to the landing of an apartment building, bike and box over shoulders.

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