When it happens, it is my toes that feel the thrill the most.

They are housed in sandals, and in their breezy half-naked happiness they wiggle against the black pedals. If I were better at balancing, I would stretch out my arms like an albatross and soar (I usually attempt this one-armed to not the same effect). I wish I could chuck off my bike helmet and let my hair toss about like Beyonce.

I’m giggling just writing this to you. It’s a ridiculous thing to be so pleased about, I realize: but when in your life have you ever not 100% rational, huh? I ask you!

It’s this, sweet and simple:

There are five of us; four cars and me, on a bike. We’re stopped at a stop light, waiting our turn like civilized humans. Minutes pass, perhaps; the people driving the cars briefly intersect my life with their roar across the intersection. I am fascinated by them. I love it when I catch one mid-yawn. Even more rare: the sing-a-long.

The five of us are waiting at the white line and I’m getting excited, because in my peripherals, I see blinkers. Little flashes, like the flash of distant lightning that tells you to better get your jim-jams on because mom’s gonna let you have a movie night with dinner, what with the storm like this and her in a cozy sort of mood. Like that.

Ooh, it’s going to happen! I chuckle to myself, as I watch the green light to my right turn amber. The intersection empties; a turn-off-the-tap sort of thing. Amber turns to crimson.

Then: the moment. The sweet reverent holy moment, that black box stoplight sort of dancing in the wind up there, so far away; the red flicks off.

And the green circle comes out. He holds his hands to us, the five of us waiting so patiently at the white line, me in the middle, two on either side, he says come, come my children, come to me!

And we do. My God, do we go!

I let my comrades rev first, the first to my left and first to my right. They hoof it into the intersection, and like we’ve rehearsed (we haven’t, I swear) they swing left and right just as I begin to shoot straight. The two cars behind them follow suit, and it’s like a flower unfolding, like the butterfly emerging from the chrysalis, like the one strong jet of water shooting up out of the fountain.

It’s the trampoline double-bounce, that with the assistance of my flower-petal comrades I soar through the intersection, victorious, the top tier of the pyramid in perfectly executed launch.

It is just as delicious in round-a-bout medium, let me tell you. I live for these moments, truly truly.

Peace and blessings,
Josie

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