A montage of maple, sassafras, birch, and beech trees. Leafy
waves, ridges, saws, hand and mitten patterns cling to branches by thin support.
Tulip tree petals, fluorescent orange and yellow, form ranks
along the path sun creeps like wisteria along the trail. A rider
pushes down the pedals of her scratched mountain bike.
With rain and change of seasons, a new fragrance graces
the muted wooden landscape. The perfume of petrichor.
Humus and humidity remain constant.
Speckled light jumps and flees the distant horizon
as the rider surveys the path ahead.
Roots and rocks focus attention
as serpentine waves intercept her wheels,
holding her back, pushing her forward.
The strain of lifting the bike, mounting rocks,
heat collapsing around her,
leaving behind burning skin and lips.
Salt in her mouth.
Rainy trails ride unusually slick.
She grips the handlebars tightly, knuckles red, hands raw,
fingers numb until she coasts across a flat patch of land.
Branches snap at her helmet and face. The sting remains.
Swat away whirling high-pitched song,
an insectโs flight at her ear.
Trail curves, hiding the ragged, rocky mountain ahead.
Mountain, she scoffs, it is an anthill to conquer.
Shift down. Prepare to climb.
Click of gears. Music
fitting the hum of tires and squeal of the breaks. Pedaling
easily at first to meet sharp incline.
Pedals turn to stone, heavily weighted. Breath heaves.
Muscles cramp.
She stares fixated at the ground. Keep moving.
One, two, three. Legs in harmony.
Top of the hill, her conquest, in sight.
Dig down with renewed vigor.
Gears grind, pedals swish in repetition, the hillโs crest meets her
expectantly.
Pause.
Gather broken breath.
Warm bottled water, sweet and gritty with mud.
Frosty whisper of the breeze.
Quiet so loud
it assaults ears until the birdโs hymnals and
distant grumbling water,
untouchable and alive take over.
Crisp light, clear
Authentic.
Alone with God.
A doe stands off to the corner, watching
intent. They stare.
Deer and human wonder who the stranger is.
Biker bolts seconds after the blessed beast.
Her reward, a downward plunge
Hazy green valley. Meeting rocks with fury and finesse.
Bike bumps, turns and twists.
Move forward, faster and faster.
The bottom exceedingly far away.
Journey finished, she faces the lonely ride home.
Lisa Acerbo‘sย writing appears in journals and anthologies such asย Poor Yorick, Ripples in Space,ย Ravenous Fables: Stories of Mythical Entanglement,ย Universe in a Bottleย published by Flying Ketchup Press, and elsewhere. Herย Hell in a Handbagย horror trilogy is available from DLG Publishing. Sheย is theย English Program Chair at Post University and teaches writing at Post University and local colleges. Most days, she can be found in the woods walking her dogs, no matter the weather.ย
