65F in January with the setting sun spinning webs of golden yellow, pink and azure, the blue of Titian. A rhythmic, fluid spin rise and fall of the terrain. A smile, a nod, a "Hey!", and occasionally a "Whoa!" as the darkness melted into the black wool. Red cap. Grunt, breath, rocking rhythmic machine as quiet as a night breeze.

Pondero ponders too. Tonight I understand.


Pondero said…
Now your talkin'! That's my kind of ride.

The next cold front hit me in the face as I headed out this morning. So I guess you'll see it soon. Hope you get another warm ride in...

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