It's Tuesday night around 8 P.M., on the cusp of prime-time television watching. I'm on my bike riding around the neighborhood formulating a poem about childhood and such.
I'm not telling you this to be pretentious. I'm not saying I'm any better than the people glued to their television sets. I love them. I love that their wood doors are open and just a slab of glass or Plexiglas is all that separates me from them and their living room. What's on? What are we watching tonight? God, I'm full. I ate way too much pot roast. Way to go, Mom. That's what I would say if they could hear me. But they can't. They don't even notice me.
Of course not everyone is watching television. Some are reading on their couches or in their favorite chairs. Some people are watching me from their patios and porches. It's a beautiful night. The humid weather broke and the temperature dropped about ten degrees. There are men tinkering in their garages with the doors open and classic rock or country is trickling out under bravado and engine talk.
And there's happy little me riding by, soaking it all in. I think summer is my time. Most people have about three options of which their whole year revolves around. Some peoples' years revolve around a birthday(his/hers, wives, parents), then there's the Christmas people, lastly is summer. I'm beginning to think that my year revolves around summer. Time slows down. I;m not afraid to say, "I think I'll just take my time mowing the lawn or walking to the library."
It's the unification of summer that gets me. Every one's doing "it" together. Summer is the time when you barbecue with the family, you work on the yard as a family, or you watch television as a family.
Bike around the streets of Owensboro during prime time in the summer when the sunlight is just about to say goodnight and you see it at every door.
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