Warm Air

Peddling up the long hill

My lungs suck in warm air

And battle back with deep exhalations

Like a climber ascending toward distant summit

I’m close to lowest gear yet the last sprocket 

Refuses to accept my shift, tensing extra effort

I am in my element, embracing with real joy

The exquisite gift of gravity against the machine

A steady rain is soaking me in welcome relief

Of increasing heat as sweat mixes with 

Sweet nectar heaven sent

I think of my friend cycling in the French Alps

Not as competitor nor even tourist 

But former resident returning to the mountains

Yearly like a bird migrating home to locate

The source of his soul

I wonder whether or not I’ll make the full ride

As muscles report loudly of exhaustion when

In fact, all is well and I know the hill belongs to me

Like a lover harmoniously matching every exertion 

Now reaching the crest, shifting into higher

Gear, reward for making claim to upper reach

I am lost in the exaltation of almost effortless 

Final rotations, locked for landing and dismount