Freedom

After stopping briefly at the stop sign, I shift my weight onto  the pedals and pump hard. Once I’ve crossed the intersection, I settle  onto my seat and relax, pedaling in a leisurely fashion.

I coast, the wind brushing across my cheeks. I turn my head to watch  the view glide by: the river below, the water a bit choppy in the wind,  the ripples dancing in the sunlight, the mountains across the water,  blanketed in fall foliage, the colors just beginning to turn, a hint of  red here and there, a touch of orange, and the odd patch of yellow, all  surrounded by a sea of ever-changing green, different hues, varying  shades, depending on the particular tree, depending on the direction  of the wind-gusts.

I turn my attention back to the road; there are no cars in sight, I veer closer  to the middle, still coasting, then start pedaling again, picking up  speed. I want to go faster and faster, I want to feel the wind in my  face, I want to fly, I want to be free.

My quadriceps burn as I pump furiously. I pedal hard until I can pedal no more, then I still my legs, one foot up, the  other down.

I raise my head to face the wind full on, relishing the sound as it  rushes past my ears, and fly. On my  tricycle.