A short meditative essay using flowing pros and vivid imagery to describe one boys trip through the pains of manhood.
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PART ONE
The wind is chilled; it cuts freely across the open Prairie of North Dakota, almost seeming to play about with sublime delight. There is nothing to stop its icy, late fall course.
Stretching far as the eye can see, both to the front and back behind, is a grey and black colored tarmac. It’s most distinctive detail, a crazy cockeyed yellow line running schizophrenically down its approximate center.
That lonesome road is the only thing that breaks the sheer monotony of the land, yet the whole scene is strangely beautiful in a way indescribable in mortal words.
Solitude covers the ground in a thick and silken fog, coupled with the minimal early morning light it gives this quiet land an ethereal, otherworldly feel.
Suddenly something breaks this code of silence; far off for now, but heard. It is a far off cry of a sound that comes to ear. It is almost too low to be heard at first, but it builds with nearness.
It is a medium rumble that is heard, rhythmic and steady. A smaller engine maybe, one not so much of an overcompensation. It is a motorcycle most assuredly, but even at that, it is not so large for its kind.
Yes, there it is indeed, moving fast. One lone spot of head ward motion in a place utterly still.
Dark bike, tall rider, and as the man gets closer (for he could be naught else with such facial hair) there comes the impression of dark clothes, dark leather, and dark thoughts.
Ever faster does this dark rider move as we watch, ever faster, and ever onward.
PART TWO
I am the rider. I travel alone down forgotten paths left untended for many, many years ago. I ride here and there, spanning two world, body in one, and mind partaking of another all together.
In one world I am tall, strong, and fast. I seem to race across the barren landscape with reckless abandon, free and wild.
In this plane of shadowed mind though, I ride with a back crippled from obstacles overcome, as well as crushed from the weight of responsibilities. I ride bent over a pale horse that never tires; racing along a path glowing a malicious fiery red.
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