Out my bedroom window I can see just north of the railroad tracks.
Just past them a canyon, a trail.
I go down to Benton and over the bridge.
This afternoon I rode to take a break
and to be refreshed by the creek,
the quietness, the stability of the seasons.
Leaves less colored than the last time:
higher up the trail they change from green to yellow to red.
The slender moon up in the sky.
Fallen leaves floating down
faster than the stream that carries them.
I didn't stop for water from my backpack.
Only reaching in my pocket to pull out my camera.
Life's better this way.
My legs burn.
It's been too long since I got away.
Away from the books, the classroom, and the lab.
The way down my bike tire bounces off rocks
that could send me into the bushes.
My elbows shaking, start to itch
from the vibration, the wind, the rush
of remembering what it feels like to be alive -
to be the one making my own tracks again.