Somewhere deep inside me, under the gray hair and the age spots and weird whiskers, a single cell remembers what it's like to feel attractive. When I ride, that cell arches its back into the breeze and floats free, testing its power. It considers reproduction then remembers that's never really been an option in this body.
Six pear-shaped tomatoes ripen on a vine planted in a metal trash can on the deck. Before the tomatoes, before the blossoms, before the vine, a seed held their promise.
The cell and the seed, the tomatoes and me: we all reach for the sun and dream of more.
3 comments:
Reaching and dreaming right along with you.
Like poetry.
:)
Of course you feel attractive on the bike. Jerri, go dig up a copy of How I Learned to Ride the Bicycle by Frances Willard.
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