Pull My Ribs Apart and Let the Sun Inside.

Some things will be here long after we have gone. Some things leave just long enough for us to forget them, then sweep us up the moment we remember they're there.

Five thousand words.

As I turned my bike off the road and aimed for the gap in the railings around Hearsall Common, my mind was wrapped around my project. Specifically, the low word count and the poor quality of what was written. 

Five thousand words. Of an ideal ten thousand.

I shifted down a gear to cope with the loose surface of the tarmac and cinders, and stood up in the pedals as I crunched and clattered my way over the loose potholes. Despite the efforts of the bike technician during Go Green week, my pedals still suffered from knock, I couldn't get anything higher than fourth gear, and the chances were that my bike wouldn't last much longer  than the end of the year, if I was lucky. My front fork was liberally smeared with black rubber dust from my brake pads. Every time the front wheel went around, there was a faint 'crunk' as the ball bearings were forced into rotating out of lock. I added cleaning my bike and re-greasing the front wheel hub to my list of things to do. 

Speaking of which, what was for dinner? There might be leftovers in the fridge but I couldn't recall what they were, or how old they were. Anything else was frozen solid in the depths of the freezer, impossible to cook properly from frozen. The freezer which inexplicably continues to leak water all over the floor at night.

The floor - when had I last mopped it? Or cleaned the bathroom? Or made an attempt at my pile of washing up? Or removed the mouldy leftovers from the fridge? Or...

I paused for a second, and noticed that the sun was shining, heating the broad, mossy swathe of common next to the oak trees. Oh, I thought. This is quite nice, and stood up in the pedals.

Eighteen years of living in the city (I still don't think of Coventry as a City, despite its Cathedral) have taught my ears to filter out background noise, and the paltry pre-rush hour traffic was gone after a moment; one instant you notice it, then your ears relax a little, and it fades. I stopped my bike, and its freewheel ceased to click. I dismounted, and wheeled my bike a few paces, and the gentle clicking started again.

This is, I thought, my winter wrapped head starting to stir and struggle with a new idea, really quite nice. I stopped wheeling my bike.  Quiet.

I've got a few minutes I thought. I might just stay here for a bit. I lowered my bike to the ground, the toolbox on its panier rack rattling and clanking as the spanners in it knocked against the unfinished sandwich and tin of tea. I'll just take my bag off.

My bag came off awkwardly and joined my bag on the grass. 

I'll just sit for a minute,  thought to myself. And - the sky is looking rather blue today. Then - when did I lie down?

It's really rather nice on the floor. The grass brushed against my hands for the first time in months. The sun grazed my face. The ground was a little damp from the morning's fog. The clouds sailed by, mountains taking flight. My ears continued to tune out the traffic, and I could hear birdsong. My head lost some of the fug it's been wrapped in for the last four months, and I opened my mouth and inhaled spring.