It is a late August night, when I am cycling through the ripe fields of wheat. The sweet, fruity scent lingers on the cycling path and I sit up and let go of the handle bar. I balance the bike while I keep on pushing and hold my arms sideways into the warm air. It feels like flying. I can hear the crickets chirping and when I get closer falling silent. I can see the stars glittering above me and the moon behind me shining just enough to light the path ahead of me. These are the nights I will dream of when I am old and gray.