something magical about the heady, nocturnal scent of the wisteria
the perfect white card circle of the moon awe inspiring
the cold night air singeing my nostrils more than satisfying
riding without any hands
and my coat filling out behind me
the rhythm in my pedalling thighs
the bend and flex of firm muscle
the happy screech of my brakes at the lights
Roses illumined by street lamps.
My thoughts nowhere except in this journey.