a moment preserved

>Riding through the old ‘hood one night awhile back, I heard a youthful female voice over on the sidewalk sing out, “Dance, dance, dance to the radio.” I cocked my head to the left, wheels spinning, and then the deep dark disembodied voice of Ian Curtis floated out through the night air, “Radio…live transmission.” I pedaled on, a smile turned inward on my soul, through intersections and over speed bumps, up hills and past houses, cars, and trees…constant motion and what we see, hear, feel while in it: that, with the odd pause to reflect, is what I hold here in my hands and heart.

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