The air cools. A welcome breeze to my salty arms, singed from the sweltering heat of summer. My body aches from the painstaking standstill of cubicle quandaries. The sun exits view, tucked behind the rock formations beyond the trailhead. My eyes fight to adjust, the sun bright but fading, I shake off the mental deconstruction of senseless traffic, a catalyst to a pounding cranium and I climb atop my bicycle.
For every pedal stroke, every breath, my headache lessens. My eyes, fixated on the disappearing sun. My feet fiercely push me away from reality and inwards towards my haven. A small selection of adventurers pass by, treading the opposite direction, their eyes ask a stern question, a question looming in my own mind. Am I too late?
Illumination decreases. My shadow grows until the mountains are engulfed. I reach my destination, only to turn around. Reality loses negativity, light is found in the darkness, and I find the courage to venture back beyond the trail. My backpack drags my shoulders closer to the ground, heavy with lighting equipment, but I neglect the visual assistance. Instead I push on. I push on with assistance from the moon. My mind retracing the trail I helped etch into the landscape at the cost of tire tread and sweat. My body takes over, fear clouding my mind as howling coyotes echo off the rock canyon walls. I make my way back to my civil transport and head home. I survive another day in reality.
Latest posts by Jeff Quihuis-Bell (see all)
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