November is going fast
as did the months before it
I was going fast
howling at the moon
screaming at the stars
i was on the cold pavement
broken bones?
blood soaking through my courdoroy?
no, only a fear of the unknown
i found that my bicycle fit the parking post
perfectly, much like a jigsaw puzzle
the all-to-familiar feeling
of waiting for my loved ones
to rescue the "weathered traveler"
curled up in the forest
resting my head on my pack
the moon lit the night
the stars looked on me
i couldn't break the quiet
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