on cycling

This needed no overture

to fall in love with cycling all over again 

like you were ten

#katyamills

downhills

the road on which we traveled passed along and over the ridge. life was full bore uphill for a time before it leveled. we hit a diner. walked around and talked to random people. i am warmer in the cold, paradoxically, gambling the tax refund away, downhills are harder than the climb.  #katyamills

Journal # 05.26.15

I wore a purple shirt and blue jeans. I used black mascara and brown eyeliner. My foundation was liquid and closer to pale than ever before. My mood was fly, like a butterfly could not be captured. Everything about the day was quite fresh other than my faithful if predictable following of schedule. I could watch the sun go up and down a thousand times and still know there was more rebirth going on than dying. Dying was merely a trick of the eye, and god a great magician. One might even take death out of the equation altogether, were it not for the seduction of blood and taste for theatre.

Journal # 04.13.15

Consider yourself Crazy, rolling along the hills of Virginia and West Virginia, in the heart of Appalachia, Patsy Cline in your ears and leather wrapped around your fingers, and form, and the '66 engine sounds like a boat as you step on it, and your favorite one beside you steps on the volume with a painted fingernail to the dial, and the sky wraps around your eyes, a tinted line more blue than ever real could be blue, striped across the top of the curving windshield, and in the rearview the dreamy haze of the past hugs the heat of the highway where you leave it, in an exhaustive try, you leave it and let her slide around your mind. Life is still beautiful... in forms... but can you even stand to care?