Scooters are freedom

I went on a ride with friends this weekend. We went on country roads to see the leaves, and it was a mesmerizing experience. The colors of the leaves were vibrant, saturated, and gold-tinged, but the hypnotic buzz I got into comes from the peace of riding a scooter, period. You ride for a while, and you pulled along in rhythm of engine buzzing you up a large hill, and the braking down the other, steep side. Keeping a steady distance in a group fades from challenging to instinct. The comraderie of the harmonious group brings a feeling of warmth and deep satisfaction, even though I know our political views in many cases, couldn't be further apart. I don't care. In this setting, with these people, it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter at all. Joy in the moment of riding, with the cold making my face feel solid as a melon, my hands going numb so I wiggle them to keep them functioning, my cold legs, none of it matters. I'm riding on a metal Vespa bullet up and down the hills with the engine thrumming and the group are dominos in a twisting row as we wind around, racing the curves with the sun on the leaves and the cars behind us wondering what the heck are all those scooters doing on the raod, its all in the moment, baby!

Hi

I have always liked to pick up shells. Nothing is more intricate that can be found on the ground so easy by so many people, and is so durable but as fragile at the same time-hard as rock, most can be crushed by a shoe. Thoughts are like that-they can be powerful but unexpressed, lose their power. I like to muddle about and think about odd and random things, so loitering among the shells stands for musing over thoughts, the way you do the shells you collect at the beach. I often wonder where they came from, the little creatures who lived inside them once, and what things they saw when they were in these shells.