Muddy Fox
September 18, 2009
9-14-09
There it lay on the corner of the tiny room.
Battered handles, weathered leather seats, decrepit pedals, tarnished sprockets, flat, aged tyres… An old rusting mountain bike to the naked eye.
An old rusting bike… A remnant of a forgotten past…
Of lazy summer days, of adventure after adventure in the neighbourhood, of chasing away enemies… A forgotten past of carefree fun, in spite of skinned knees and bruised palms.
An old rusting bike… Its value hidden beneath the grime.
Battered handles, weathered leather seats, decrepit pedals, tarnished sprockets, flat, aged tyres… signs of the years it spent wasting away in a garage… locked up somewhere in the vaults of someone’s memories.
An old rusting bike… Its acquisition a reminder.
Awakening the long-sleeping drive, to keep sight of the goal, push hard and keep on going until it smells sweet of victory from the freedom of the maiden voyage.
An old rusting bike… Like gasoline, in a sense of purpose.
A story of triumph behind every journey, igniting the burning desire once more to learn, fall forward with grace, get on back up…
An old rusting bike… A key that holds the secret:
LIVE –as neither ghost of past nor future– NOW.
There it lay on the corner of the tiny room. An old rusting mountain bike to the naked eye… A remnant of a forgotten past for some…
A symbol of significance for one.
hahaha