Going Green

Yesterday I had the most glorious day biking around my town. Borrowing a helmet from a friend of mine (complete with a safety-pin to hold it together) I set out down the hill on which I live, a hill that reminds me of San Francisco with the exception that there is no way around it. Flying down the hill with my wobbly biker legs, I scooted by an old childhood friends house, calling through the open window, "Ben! Ben are you in there?" Only to leave a note tucked into his door. It was strange in some ways breezing past my first house, and then tucking in a driveway next door that once seemed so much bigger than it is now, but enjoyable at the same time that I could find this routine, that this house had not changed, that my friend still lived in its walls. Then it was off through some construction, saying hi to an old fellow who, bored with sitting by his "This Road Closed" sign, likes to joke with me, or chat, or just give me a crooked toothed smile that lifts his wrinkles around the edges, and off I go down the bike path. As I was scooting along feeling all proud of my green self, I paused to help a turtle cross the road, reminiscing of the first turtle my old pal Kevin Putnam helped me catch. With a quick introduction and a scratch on the finger, the turtle was down safely in the reeds and I was off again, feeling the soft crunch of pine needles under my tires. Oh to go green.