My light flickers into a steady beam as the dynamo wheel speeds up.
I hear the first laugh of a man and woman, the seed of new romance.

In the dark, I feel the chill on my face while my legs moved like pistons.
I see a small pin point of light coming towards me eventually followed by the dark silhouette of a fellow pedaler.

The wheels spin faster and a small bit of sweat appears between my mouth and nose.
I see a shooting star at the stop light and an owl silently gliding over me in search of prey.

The gears click up and down as the terrain changes.
The cars rush by me in small packs followed by silence only disturbed by the shifting of gears.

This is my city at night.

In the motorized glass prisons of our lives, we are removed from the pulsating hum of the urban landscape. We scurry off to the country to find God because we have cut ourselves off from the Divine experience of the city on two wheels. Our petroleum induced haze has put a veil over us. We grow fat and lonely and wonder why.

I glide down the hill and my body shivers. Just as my joints and my rump are ready for a break, I roll up to my door and feel the warmth of the home.

The kickstand clicks. The dynamo light fades. I feel my pulse and muscles settle and know that I am alive.