A Sunday Afternoon Ride

By Pan Pan

Let it spill over. The accidental laughs and meetings, the stark sound of the voices hiccupping with glee in the dark.

I came with a plan, and I left with something different. A season’s goal with the training programs, the weekends filled with cold rain, and the vague determination that clings with familiarity.

The hedgerow looks the same from all directions. You enter from the South and leave from the North, and you see in between a dozen horses, the odd white vans hurrying through, and suddenly, somehow – from somewhere – the sun comes through and the rain moves West. You’re lucky today.

Today we’re free. Now we are free. Tomorrow, we’re not sure of yet, but somehow tomorrow feels just far enough, along the hedgerow which has no direction, through the grass littered with sheep, and across the old roads with familiar gardens and new doorsteps. Right now we’re free.

Listen. Do you hear them? Whispering along the grass, which move in the direction against the wind, and the trees shake, stirring memories, shaking old thoughts from dancing limbs. I was here before.

Touch the ground. Feel the cold, wet. On the smooth rims the world looks sleepy, frozen, but listen. Do you hear them now? Saying to you, “Now today you are free.” You never came to escape, but you found a world which opened, peeling itself from the fabric of what you were earlier and what you’ll return to later, right now, you are something in a different place.

Transient, parallel worlds move within and through one another, and you embody it all, in your day, out in the hedgerow with the trees, you are the singular point where all the movement stops. From my window, I see the roads, and from the roads, I see the world.

If you can only hear the music I hear, out on the roads, moving, moving so fast, quickly, hear it now, listen! Let your heart rest. Let your legs be still. Stop to look at the view, in the new place, in the new world. Be on fire.

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