"Fly Away"

The old road is barren in early morning, the friction of tires on the pavement making visceral noises. Mist raises its arms to meet a dense, hovering fog making love to wiry, green tendrils of kudzu, both laughing at the world, strangling underbrush and trees post coitus. A centrifugal sound escapes the spokes of my white bicycle, I am a ghost speeding down the slope, curved like a woman’s lips, soft and dangerous standing on the pedals at break neck speed. Dew invigorated with magnolia, wrapped in honeysuckle, hits my face delicate as soap bubbles releasing the nectar onto my skin and I fly away. Aleathia Drehmer 2007