Hitchin' a ride....

I believe in Peace and Love...
Everything in between is just a roadtrip....

I would have sent postcards.
I swear.
But I didn't take stamps, and
after a while,
I was sure if I just whispered to the wind....
scribbled breadcrumbs on lonely dirt roads,
left love beads in unexpected places....

You'd know....


It feels good to be home again...

To unpack my imagination
and toss it wildly on the floor,
next to crumpled blue jeans and empty cigarette packs.
To wake up to it the next morning....

Yeah, It feels good to be home again....

Let the Peace and Love begin....

I named him Woodstock.....

"He's just a bike" they said. Rolling their eyes. "But a good bike, Ma, a really good bike" she added, reassuring me that it was o.k. to bring him in the house. Ok to clear a room for his comfort and park him like art next to the piano. And then they laughed.

But, he's my responsibility, I thought to myself. I brought him home from the store, picked him out of crowd, with his peeling stickers lazily slapped on at the factory, his decals with air pockets, and his crooked seat. I brought him home and now I have to nurture him. Show him the world. I have to teach him to ride with the wind, to slide into the driveway, racing for homebase like the crowd is roaring. I have to take him where he feels as free as first love or a puppy that just climbed through the gate, knee high in trouble and romping on...and on....and on....

And so, on Sunday, after miles and morning miles of practice, we took off...."Take me to the River and I'll follow you anywhere" I whispered to his backside, clomping him out the kitchen door, and saddling up with lemoned water and a smile....and we rode on and on and on.....

Like Forest Gump running, we just kept going......

And I swear he pedaled half the way. I rode the wooden bridge hands free, blonde hair flying, tickety tickety tack, floorboards swaying...... the water chasing us under the planks, lapping at our shadow....

At Make-out park, we camped long enough to remember, to graze, to watch the faces of strangers watching us grow....

to stare into the rheumy face of the river and throw kisses at everything hidden under its leather colored skin.....

to smile at the Sun, freckle faced, and playing hide and go seek with the trees,

to climb over the "Do not cross the fence" sign

and snuggle into Peace Tree,

two fingers rising.....

long enough

to know

it was OK to turn around and go back home.

Ok to fly like the dickens down that driveway.....

crunching gravel all the way.....