I watch them ride by, flushed with life. Up and down the hills they go, speeding past the world.
I try to imagine the wind lashing their face with mirth while the cold makes their noses red.
My hometown was always hot and dusty, and yet we enjoyed racing through the fields. It didn’t matter that our stomachs were empty or that the stones pricked our bare feet. For those few moments were were kings of our own world. Laughing and sprinting on our own terms. We were free.
I go back to mowing the lawn. The memories are fading and the weeds keep growing.
My stomach may no longer be empty, but my heart sure is.
In response to The Sunday Photo Fiction Challenge of July 22, 2018, based on a photo by C E Ayr.