Cycling through my life, I see,
Flat tires of distractions,
and that wondrous moment, gazing from the top of a climbed hill,
and notice all things given to us need maintenance.
Note to self: add time freewheeling downhill to recharge.
“The earth has yielded its fruits;”
Psalm 67
Old style handlebars, the hand painted bike,
Dropped ungracefully as a child, but well worn, by many.
A late Saturday summer afternoon, I visited the Cleverley’s bike store with dad,
and later, with much discussion, the shiny new Raleigh was mine, with gears!
Next day-ridden miles proudly to Mass; all gears and brakes. I was a king!
“On that solemn closing you shall do no sort of work.”
Book of Leviticus
The short cut across the fields leads me to the cottage of my life.
A journey made fast by a bull leading an angry herd of cattle,
trying to trample out my voice and potential in this world,
but I make it over the fence and smile happily at them, spared from death.
Regaling the story of my life protected, my parents think I am making it up.
“Even the sparrow finds a home, and the swallow a nest.”
Psalms 84
The Monastery Within 