Trails

photo by joeball

The contemporary philosopher, Cornel West, says of the human condition that we are “featherless two-legged language-aware creatures born between urine and feces who will one day be culinary delicacies for terrestrial worms.”

So there’s that.

But we’re also rollicking two-wheeled fire-imbued rascals pedaling between sewer and waste dump who sometimes opt for the refulgent embrace of supernatural dreams.

Unironically.

We congregate on bricks and rattle past gum walls before rolling over water to tarry by pillars and eventually slither through an enormous yoni-shaped entrance to dirt, mud, and gravel again and again and again and again.

And again and again and again.

It was the first crepuscular start of the year on a day whose dawn broke so resplendently that even rare early-risers got to be awestruck by the heavenly conflagration.

 “Agape” comes in parallel forms: mouth wide open or unconditional love and there were both as we baffled one another by the single-walled fire or looked out over the water by continent’s edge.

I count myself lucky when I get be lost for so long and then suddenly appear at the familiar location; this magic has happened before while trailing behind Joeball but it never fails to delight.

And when you can bomb downhill without have to climb back up afterwards, well, that’s too good to be true.

And yet, so true to be good.

Our merry little blaze walked closer to us all night with a little help from Fancy Fred; the tide fell ever lower until right when we left; all that space between fire and water remained filled with conversation and laughter as the featherless bipeds cavorted with abandon.

And then it was time for a wind-aided gallop towards Chantilly lace and a pretty face and a pony tail hanging down.

A wiggle in the walk and giggle in the talk make the world go ‘round—so much so that you ride west in a circle before east on your usual spin home.