The Dream Continued:

Out of the netherworld through an oppressively humid haze I materialize at a shore front — the city behind me a stony sentinel silent and shimmering in the vapor. I turn from the city and there, where the lake meets a path line, stands a weatherworn black bicycle with butterfly handlebars.

I intuit that this is my way back home to Boston. The mushroom hiss haze fades away as the sun zeppelins its own path out of the clouds. There is only one direction home and it unspools out to the northwest and I intuit, again, that it will turn sharply east and I’ll be home again.

Just pump the pedals — grind away through the hottest days in recorded human history — and all will be well.

Well. Well. Well.

What I’m Reading:

“For untold thousands of years we travelled … over rough paths not simply as peddlers or commuters or tourists, but as men and women for whom the path and road stood for some intense experience: freedom, new human relationships, a new awareness of the landscape. The road offered a journey into the unknown that could end up allowing us to discover who we were.”

— Robert MacFarlane / The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot