The rush of the wind.
The steady beat of my peddle stroke.
The crunch of the road underneath my tires.
All these produce the collective symphony.
This symphony marks the passage of miles drawing me ever closer to the horizon.
The smell of freshly turned, dampened earth mingles with the scent of fresh melon and smoke in the distance.
These smells are carried on crisp air that bade me to the mountains beyond.
The sun licks my skin and warms my eyelids, when I dare close them, producing a world of shadowy orange landscape.
This feeling of cutting away from a starting point, straight through the still air and time keeps fatigued legs moving rhythmically.
I feel the road beneath me as it stretches before me.
I breath in the rich smell of earth and fields.
I close my eyes once more and the warmth of the orange shadow landscape washes over me.
My mind set on the point where the expanse of sky and mountains meet narrowing road.
The horizon bids, beckons me on, and I become a part of this symphony of miles.
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