Third shift

Sunset, 5:18 pm

I smell pine and the rapid decline of autumn, sunlight flickering through branches and strobing my mirrors as

Orange cones for clouds slant into angled spikes across a purple and blue sky 

Framed by oxblood and tangerine leaves, an occasional tree insistent with sun-yellow fingers rupturing 

An undulating backroad, easy to coast without acceleration, craning to see parallel streams quietly nod along.

Deep, belly breaths at stop signs, and time slows just enough to augment sounds greater than their usual speaking voice

As I emerge from winding forest and roll back by squeezing a right hand, the smooth clink of left-foot lift readying

For an acceleration that is always a surprise, but more an affirmation that point A and point B

Need each other, the same way we do. The streams turn away from noisy concrete and asphalt, and I reluctantly move away from sunlight and leaves

To lean into corners as night begins to fall

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