His helmet had bumblebees on it. When he was small, he rode on my bicycle in a giant plastic seat directly behind me. It was terrible not to be able to see him. The first time we biked downtown, I kept trying to swivel around to check on him, and then, down the big hill, I heard him cry: WHEEEEEEEE! The exhilaration of the sound, and our speed, and the delight of motion. We were quick as jaguars.
I’ve been thinking of that hill. The worry that suddenly vanished as we crested and he hollered his joy. Later, he would even raise his arms up in a kind of hallelujah. It’s easier to be happy. It takes so little effort to be pleased. To feel the earth and enjoy the thread of your life. To live with delight. To listen to the small child at your back murmuring the thing you feel. Giving voice to it. Spurring it. Joy joy joy joy. Pedaled to a rhythm. The way your blood laps. The way your heart lifts open. The way your love sprints off the map.
Think of us tonight, mortal and grasping. Wish us the joy we wish you.
“and dance your death
away at the wedding” -e.e. cummings