Gentle, gentle the colors fall. Cool on my freshly clippered head, the air crisp awaiting a winter. Down the main drag a peloton, club colors, tights. I have tights. Not gonna say shoulda rode. No shoulda’s here. They look good, though. Thirty-eight degrees and sunny. I may have to suck it up. Tights. Hmm. Bears thought.

Do bears think? I think they do, imbued with that thing that so effectively eludes definition: life. And who cares what they do in the woods, anyway?

Back in the chair, she’s a nice person, accent from England, about fifty-five, sixty. She could lose those highlights, though. It’s a nuthouse, questionable co-workers, clients on the benches not logged in, a mess. I calm her down with my unsinkable good spirits. We have a good haircut. She’s calmer when I go. I try not to break my arm patting my back on out the door.  Never had a broken bone. 

Far away, you are: loved. All is well, or all will be well. If there is still a question, I promise. I can promise, because I am absolutely sure.

Here, I am, glad. You own it. You do. Yes, you. Because you taught me with patience and that other thing we agree not to talk about. Works for me.  I can bear it.  Because I know, that’s right, you know it, too, everything is going to turn out just fine. Yes, it is.

Down and out but not me or you.  Sun going down now and the temperature with it. We’re going out, so are you. You guys have fun, y'hear? Nothing but, forever and ever, fun, fun, fun, as much as you can bear. 

Love,

Jess