Pedal, pedal, pads grab metal; rider turns and tries to settle.
The clouds grasp downward through tall guarded trees
Thin, whispering mists attempt to anchor
Clutching roots and rocks against light breeze
Squinting riders exit in boastful clangor
The dank, damp forest pays them little heed
Nor do Claire and I, moving through shadows
Our tires strike dirt; she stands up to lead
The forest is ours as dusk traffic slows
We pedal briskly, moving with design
Discussing the small joys in dreary day
Hoping memory brightens the incline
In the dark I dab, curse, recover, stray
We reach the descent, pause; engage our lights
Alone in the woods, we own the twilight
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