I Don’t Want to Ride My Bicycle.

   
   Self discipline often looked like braving the sweltering heat, scaling the hills and pushing through burning in my thighs. I spent much time under the sweet smell of the swaying graveyard trees. The silence of the stones and the vibrant green - all painted by dancing light. I felt a logical and visceral belonging being near the nature, there. The bells chimed at 5pm every day and I had a habit of riding past a few dogs that I couldn't see. I whistled the same fluttery song as I darted past their obscuring wooden fence on my bicycle. Cutting through the corners and curbs, nearing the bells - they'd bark all at once in their own unique tunes, and sometimes I went around again. I rode my bicycle because I was sad, or more than sad - less than sad; and riding my bicycle was something I could make myself go and do. A way to be in the World. The Doing can get you to do more. Maybe the left foot-right foot-go faster-go slower bilaterally regulates the hemispheres of the brain or something. Or it's reminding you of the dirt, the neighborhood cats. The pavement and the blue and pink buildings and that water makes a sound. But, there are maybe more than a few times that you're riding the machine in the face of your 'more/less', as I've put it - and you just think, " I do not want to ride my bicycle."