A Childhood Relic
It is the October of 2009.
My feet hit the smooth, cool wooden floorboards as I rush out the door. I am filled with vitality as I take in a deep breath of fresh air. It is a late autumn afternoon; the orange leaves are falling gently from above. The clouds dominate the sky, shrouding any sign of blue from my sight. I quickly make my way to the backyard where my bike rests. The leather seat and rubber handlebars are speckled with yesterday’s rain. As I walk up to the sleek, steel frame of the bike, I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the window of my house. In that image, I see a face suffused with joy and excitement. The leaves under my rubber tires make a satisfying crunch as I ride over them. A gentle breeze tickles
It is the October of 2009.
My feet hit the smooth, cool wooden floorboards as I rush out the door. I am filled with vitality as I take in a deep breath of fresh air. It is a late autumn afternoon; the orange leaves are falling gently from above. The clouds dominate the sky, shrouding any sign of blue from my sight. I quickly make my way to the backyard where my bike rests. The leather seat and rubber handlebars are speckled with yesterday’s rain. As I walk up to the sleek, steel frame of the bike, I catch a glimpse of my own reflection in the window of my house. In that image, I see a face suffused with joy and excitement. The leaves under my rubber tires make a satisfying crunch as I ride over them. A gentle breeze tickles