It’s a dream and I’m lost in the familiar.
I always ride this trail but it’s new every time.
The same turns surprise me,
Log piles slide under my rear wheel
Just as I realize they’re there to be navigated.
It’s always the same: different every time.
Though I’m alone, there are always others
They come from somewhere
To help, be helped and then
But not really
Is a thread in a woven fabric
Crossing, intersecting, spanning to the next
According to a pattern unseen
A mobius reality where,
From one side
All that can be seen is a single thread
But from the other,
Only a continuous fabric.
We are the trails
We ride together