Yesterday I saw an old man about to ride an old bicycle with bald tires, a rusted chain, and brake pads nearly worn down.
"So why do use this contraption?" I asked him.
He gave me a knowing shrug and said it was because they were like old dance partners. He mounted the bike and rode away. The wind blew back his silvery hair; his thin arms held steady the bicycle frame; his legs peddled slowly but steadily over rough gravel. Like old dance partners they were in rhythm, playing to the music of the moment, the music of life.
Poetry Pantry #412
17 hours ago