It’s an oddly warm afternoon on November 25-ish
(I don’t bother with calendars or clocks any more)
for a hundredth time
Yellow dog and I amble thru prairie dog hills and holes
To view TriState Canal
An essential feature in this desert land.
Still full to the banks with September’s
‘Once in10,000 year flood waters.’
like bizarre Colorado weather
I find something peculiar there every day
It’s 70 degrees again
errant wave or county ditch rider
Has tossed a child’s bike onto the low bank weeds.
it’s a lost amphibian
submerged for months
Chain, nuts, bolts rusted but
With my knees tapping my shoulders
And yellow dog laughing beside me
we must appear an odd circus act as
I balance treacherously for a block home
On a tiny child’s toy lost to raging water.
I wonder if anyone is watching
But maybe most everyone is used to me by now.
I tidy up the little frog
Oil the chains and bolts.
Except for the brakes
Like a little chameleon
it appears new
I am too lazy to take it to Goodwill
So I peddle it to JustDownaBlock catholic church
leave it in a ragtag children’s bike rack
As I walk away, looking back at the toy
I wonder what kind of world we live in?
Is the world basically honest
Are others out only for themselves
Or can a loose bike survive a day
In warm November breezes?
A week passes. Little Green
Sits alone still
I can see it from my picture window.
I feel restored by humankind’s honesty
I make a sign
una bicicleta gratis’
(In my worst Spanish)
Paper flapping dangerously in the rising wind
I can see dark wave clouds moving over distant mountains
A squall is coming
The next day, froggy bike is gone
Permission granted to start another life
My faith in humanity restored
At least in this neighborhood.
70 degrees suddenly
Flips to 17
In what I guess is two hours time
I can smell snow in the air.
In my mind I envision
Somewhere a pint sized person
Is sailing his ‘new’ bike
Wind through his hair.
the lack of brakes
Of no concern as
first flakes fly
He doesn’t feel the cold