We cross over Spring Road and hit the path going west. To the left are the sides of buildings or the silhouettes of houses. To the right are the wild flowers and grasses, some taller than my head, all bursting in a riot of black, orange, yellow, and pink.
I push harder on the pedals and inhale the scent of clover, the smell that makes me think of bees and prairies. The sky is robin's egg blue without a puff of cloud in it, and the sun beats down. I can smell the heat on my skin, the fabric softener wafting from my T-shirt.
As we near the bridge over Salt Creek I pump harder to get up the hill. I lead with my heart as I push into the ascent. My blood is singing, my breath is rhythmic, and I am alive, alive, alive.
