bike

The gentle clunk of gears,
Brings me joy.
Winding tight,
A spring in my tired legs.
Speeding down,
Through a mild spring morning,
finding nothing,
so instantly enthralling.
The moments of time,
Slips past,
As the wind,
Trips through my hair.
On a bike,
I have no care.
Its whimsicality,
Is a familiarity.
Such is the nature,
Of a flippant cad.
But I am glad,
Glad to be on my bike,
On this morning,
Bathed in this low sun.
The hint of newly open flowers,
Fills the air,
And my lungs.
This bike makes me breathe,
It makes me alive.