His first bike ride

There's something about a bike. You remember the feeling, don't you? It's early Spring, and your ungloved hands are cold on the handlebars. Your eyes tear up a little in the wind, but you aren't cold enough to put on your hat, no, because now it is Spring and the snow is gone, and there is still a chill in the air, but it is maybe the last chill for months. You zip your coat up all the way, but still the wind spills down your neck and you don't care. You're riding a bike!

You ride down the middle of the street because you can, because the road is yours, because there are no cars. Yesterday you had trouble getting over the curbs and through the potholes, but today you are stronger. You have the feel of the bike in your hands, the pedals under your feet. The freedom of the wind and the sun and the power of riding a bike in Spring.

Your tricycle is red and shiny. A silver bell sits perched on the silver handlebars and red and white tassels swing from the ends. You sit on the seat, back straight, eyes forward. Your feet touch the pedals. Hood up, zipper zipped, shoes velcro-ed, peddling peddling. You look the way I imagine (almost) three-year-olds everywhere, jubilant, glorious, free.

You pedal faster than I can walk, and so I run to catch up with you and close the distance between us. I will gather up the wind, gather up the Spring, take back everything in the space between us. I'll pull you back in close one more time, then woosh! Let the wind out, let Spring out, let you out, woosh! With the wind at your back, peddling peddling, smiling smiling.