A summer's evening ride taken late because of the heat, tucked in the pocket of time between day and night. The road is quiet; flumes of worn silver where the car tires run, laid out next to the darker asphalt where the squirrels luck out, or not. The sun is gone – left bits of candy floss in the sky. The moon is a timid right parenthesis.
I stop and stand with my bike. The sound of my breathing is drowned out by such a choir of crickets. It is all I can do not to walk into the mown field and lie down and watch the night come.