Globe Drifting



The cyclist's transitory path

A compass may guide him on a northbound journey, wheels may fly him down valleys and mountains, muscles bulging out beneath sweat-soaked skin may aid him on his way, but they only take him so far- his mind must do the rest. Nestled away in that hazy purgatory lying somewhere between serenity and exhaustion is the cyclist’s mind, an enigmatic fortress of determination.

The milkman on his morning rounds, the cherry tree’s proud blossoms, summer’s weary sunflowers, autumnal leaves beneath the wheel, a smiling man of snow and a baker on a homeward journey-  a secret spectator to all things fleeting, our fair cyclist soundlessly rides on; little does he realise, he is but as transient as the world he silently witnesses. His toes are nimble, his calves are large, his eye is sharp; a vagabond on wheels, appreciate him while you can- a gentle nod or a…

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