beautiful cross, do not fade into the night

I do envy those hard dawgs of winter ~

they that hibernate during the windy springs of rain and NRC sweep,
they that dust off wings and pump up lungs for late summer squashings,
they who's strength and resolve build to to meet, head-on,

the sleet that freezes hands,
the cold dark soul-sucking mud
reaching for you, through drivetrain
as purgatorial demons might
in some nightmare moment of chase, flee, devour.

- - -

And the glassy, classy, free-flowing days of road racing all too soon infest my psyche. The speed, oh ... the pure speed ~ calls to me, beckons, demands me pay tribute.

and i do.

- - -

Though satisfied with this past year, there are still scratches left un-itched. I find myself ... reaching for them.


somebody slap that hand.