Saturday, August 30, 2014

Magic happens to me

Magic happens to me when I ride in the park at night. I am a planet -- albeit a small dusty one -- I have an orbit.

I spin, in Extraordinary Time.

I am always startled by the flatness of the world -- when I stop after a fast ride. The heart demands to know how it can beat, if it's not also moving forward. It feels wrong to stand still. To separate from the bicycle.

After a fast ride there is disbelief, which keeps me from sleeping. The bed cannot contain me.

Thursday, August 28, 2014


After a year of trying to write about cycling -- usually in the high that follows a ride -- it occurs to me that I've been writing a kind of erotica.

And also a birder's detective story: colors, markings, calls, songs, clues.

It's all talk around the thing, and not the thing itself. The thing eludes capture.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014


I just put away my winter boots. This is Kasian time, modeled on Ilyushan time.

Tuesday, August 26, 2014


Life is too short to ever wear anything but your favorite pair of shoes.
I dreamt a man walked into the shop with a stroller, wearing a knit sweater-vest.

"The wheel is busted," he said, "and also could you mend a torn Scottish vest?"

Monday, August 25, 2014

4 Seasons

"So what do you do in the winter?" asked a customer who moved here from a tropical climate a few months ago.

"You read the forecast like a hawk," I said. "You scout the roads in the Park on foot, checking for ice. You ride every day you can, you ride as many days in a row as you can. And when there's ice you shut your eyes hard and swallow the train."

Sunday, August 24, 2014

M.: "Pasha!"

M.'s mom: "Her name is Kasia! You know, Pasha, with a K. Can you say that?"

M.: "Pasha with a K!"

(proceed with exuberance and joy)