Her Open Door

Author’s Note: A bicycle enthusiast, I linked in some road video of one of our more frequented routes. Neither the speeds nor the beauty we encounter are done justice. Thanks for reading. A.S. 


From a bicycle seat, and traveling tall,

Watched an Indian Summer turn into Fall.

The leaves on the hardwoods that hang o’er our roads,

Have turned to purples, oranges, scarlets, and yellows.

The mountain colors, are taking their time,

But they’ll come around, as we slow on our climbs.

Over six-hundred miles in months nine and ten,

One thousand now, on the gift from a friend.

That could be one reason, the fun’s yet to end,

Or Labeak’s retirement – let’s not pretend.

The pace is phenomenal, unheard of before,

Mom Nature kindly left open her door.

So we’ll take full advantage, get all that we can,

Like Pirates and booty, explorers and land.

Sometimes there’s talk, ideas, and fate,

Others – dead quiet – just appreciate.

The fields and the hills, the creeks and the Coal,

The deer and the cows, goldfinches and shoals.

These days won’t last, we’re both well aware,

We’re already riding in brisk winter air.

Unexpected rain, can chill to the bone,

But a glimmer of sunshine, will bring us back home.



© 2016


2 thoughts on “Her Open Door

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