When I ride in the morning, but don't ride back home at night - I feel like a boomerang that did not return. I feel like the bog in which the heron stands on one foot - the bog waits for the other foot to drop.
My voice is a billowing curtain in a window of The Mayor's Hotel, which is not a real hotel, but rather a diary and palette. When I'm not writing (or riding), I'm running Redbeard Bikes with my husband, Ilya. We are a big little bicycle shop in DUMBO, Brooklyn.