The last time I rode my bike home at 1:00am would have been just a little over 15 years ago when I was riding the 20 miles home (I checked the distance when I was back in Yuma last week, just to be sure that I wasn't just dreaming that distance up) from my job as a cashier at Safeway each night. The sky was always clear and the stars shined so bright that nothing has ever seemed quite so magnificent as those desert night skies in their calm majesty. The only sounds heard on those long, peaceful rides was the banter of the coyotes howling and the startling train whistle coming around the bend of the foothills that stood between Yuma and the ranch that I called home.
Tonight I rode home at 1:00am again for the first time since I was 21. The air was crisp and clear. I could see all of the bright lights shining out around the bay. The only sounds were the sounds of subdued seagulls, (I'm convinced that they try to be quieter at 1:00am than they ever are at 7:00am) and the occasional sea lion barking into the darkness. The waves crashing their reflective foam carpets onto the shoreline welcomed me like an honored guest.
I accept the night's invitation to go bike riding with it often again as we once did together when we were younger. It's been far too long since I've communed with this particular spirit.
Tonight I rode home at 1:00am again for the first time since I was 21. The air was crisp and clear. I could see all of the bright lights shining out around the bay. The only sounds were the sounds of subdued seagulls, (I'm convinced that they try to be quieter at 1:00am than they ever are at 7:00am) and the occasional sea lion barking into the darkness. The waves crashing their reflective foam carpets onto the shoreline welcomed me like an honored guest.
I accept the night's invitation to go bike riding with it often again as we once did together when we were younger. It's been far too long since I've communed with this particular spirit.
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