Tall grass wavers

As I pave the way through a long long field

On a bike.

Wildflowers smell,

Of rain and grass.

Down a hill to a stream,

That comes from a small waterfall.

Trees grow their long limbs,

And stretch out like reaching arms.

Metal overrun my grass is rusted and

Warn out.

Logs and leaves litter the ground,

As I scramble back up the hill.

Again I ride, back the way I came,

But this time, it’s cut short through a stream.

A short cut.

Down the hill I climb,

Across logs I look,

To find a place to cross.

I find a piece of metal.

Sturdy though it looks,

It folds under my weight.

In the water I slosh to cross the bigger stream.

Then I climb a hill full of dew and weeds.

Grass gets caught on the bike,

As I pull with my might,

To get the bike to the top.

Sweat rolls down my face and neck.

It streams down my shirt,

As the sun shines down.

Finally I see,

Through the grass and the weeds,

A sidewalk,

That I take back home.