spinning wheels

Out in the clear blue day. Cycling West along the leaf-dappled track. Tree root cracked. Past skittish birds and guys at their Doo huts, taps aff and Carly Special in hand. Around sleekit shards of broken bottles brown, green, clear sparkling splinters dazzling like fangs in the afternoon light. Planes landing directly overhead, trucks passing under. Up and down through the heady green leaf aroma of summer hedgerows, carried, Bisto Kid like, back to the front garden in Castlehill. Of glorious hot summer smells of chlorophyll and butterfly catching in a Search for Lost Time. Till I reached the canal: fishermen, pond-dippers, bread feeders, scenic lunch munchers, scooters and loch chasers.

At the big bike I left them all, and headed home. Un-punctured.