A molten copper sun
And roads left parched
By a week of quicklime frosts
Sets the old urge surging
Through my sluggish blood and ruined bones,
Shaking lost desires from their long winter sleep.
Tool up, clip in, tuck down
Turn the taps on full
Settle to the work.
And so the wheel turns.
The road bike has been waiting patiently in the shed all winter for the roads to dry up and the sun to put in an appearance. Yesterday, finally, it all came right. And it was good. N.
