We built a trail, on a thin path covered in dry sappy pine needles.
Then, tied rope around the end of each handlebar, and rode our way
through wooded red dust lanes.
Metal horses neigh with every jump, as rubber tires hit parched
pinecones. Shattering at every heaving heavy, deep-breathing.
Push! Chains pop, toes point, thighs squeeze.
Bare skin frowning over aluminum stirrups,
leaving little indents on our calloused girly feet.
We were laughing and competitive. I was youthful and creative.
The Word Mill 