(bicycle) days on the hills

photo credit:Maarten van der Burgt


when times run slower I would use my bicycle
to go to school, to work, pretty much everywhere
on those hills that I used to call home;
on the smooth roads that would lead to a beach
at sunset and the end of a day.
the fields and the bushes, daring bougainvilleas and trees
I learned to know, and even the bees that were visiting these.
the people at the corner store, and the old women
in charge of the house where they were growing their nephews,
I would see from the road going about routine life.
the light and the breeze were my friends, the hills themselves
had become part of me, after many days of living together so close.
the bicycle resembled a horse and all I had to do was
look for the windmills Don Quijote had missed.

Now that I am awake and no longer live within dreams
I still miss the light and the breeze, and the effort
I was able to put in traversing those hills;
I miss their little noises like the the buzz of the bees .
Silent cars have replaced many of the bicycles
my friends and I used on a bumpier street.
I think rushing people have promised themselves more time
to to what they want once they reach their destination at the beach.
On the same road old people still used to walking and talking
head in peace towards the same beach at the end of the day.
As for me I continue to see : less from the seat of my bike
more through the car's window new windmills Don Quijote has missed;
look hard - they're real if you only can see them,
they disappear when you don't think of them.