(2020)
...What pleasure it is, feeling your own body, hearing it, pushing it - legs, my legs so familiar; breathing, your breathing that assumes its own rythm -leaving you free to wander someplace else; the air's scents of nearly forgotten things - growing green things, turf, weed, flowers, even the dust that hints of rock bur tempered, the minerality, by a line or two of fresh, cool water; the groovy lines your kughtky swool your bike into and through as you descend; the changing forms of the landscape slowly transforming the distant horizon. Better than smoking a Marlboro. Even as an old guy...
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