The Ride

The autumn air was a temperate and as blue as the cobalt sky. You know this sky, this day, this ride that invokes dreamlike states, it instills yearnings and has a calming effect; it leads to a serious inward outlook. I rode an asphalt thread through the quilted fabric of mown hay fields with great harvest spun rolls waiting, just waiting. I thundered past fenced grazing horses and large colonies of browsing bovine and cut through a breeze of manure that ties me to every cowboy and farmer that ever was. I was here and everywhere; it was me and everyone that ever was.