Monday, April 23, 2007

   Word Therapy.


My pace was steady. Left, right, left, right. Round, round, round.
The biking calmed me. It gave me an emancipated feeling; away from the people, away from their vigilance.

Finally, I arrived at the beach. The mountains gave the impression that it surrounded the setting sun. Tall still coconut trees hovered above. The boats floated on the peaceful cool water. Were there people in there? I couldn’t tell. The sand of this beach was dark, and so the water was murky. It was dirty-beautiful.

It was quiet. The stillness calmed me. Nobody seemed to care, and I was thankful.

The time to return came, and I headed back. The clouds sprinkled subtly, so I quickened the cycling.

Distracted by some cows grazing, I made a stop. “Will the cows hurt you if you touched them?” I asked my cousin days ago. He replied, “No,” but he must’ve thought, “No, dummy.”

My initiation was to just stand close to the calf, and let it come to me. What if I get hurt? What if the mother cow charged at me? No, it won’t do that. Look at it, so cute.

It came up to me, and I reached out my hand. “Bite her hand!” screamed some guy driving by. Please don’t bite. It licked me. With one finger, I grazed the fur on its nose. I felt happy.

Satisfied, and realizing it was going to rain any minute, I hopped back on, and pedaled towards the city. The sprinkles transformed into raindrops. Should I stop somewhere? No, I’ll go straight home.

Through the city, and over the bridge. Slowly over the bridge. Humungous bridge. At the midpoint I finally let go of the pedals, and let the momentum carry me down, down.

Almost home. All wet, but refreshed. Before turning into our street, I had to make one more stop at the volleyball court. Dad was still there, and playing in the rain. Satisfied, I biked back.

Relieved of the damp clothes, but not relieved of the coldness. I splashed myself with the chilly water.

The rain was relentless, and I couldn’t bike anymore. It finally stopped the morning I left.

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