Harvest Moon

  I searched frantically for you. Carving around bends and cutting across hills Suffused with evening shadow. Eyes peeled and neck staining; All for a glimpse. My night vision blurred by headlights I all but gave up: Then there you were. Just a glimmer, me playing peekaboo peering through thorny hedgerows to crest a hill…


I know there  would be bills. Servicing. Not to mention maiming and death. Potentially. Oh, but it was so, so utterly cool. Pristine. Maybe on its maiden ride. I must have ridden in a past life, because If chrome could beckon, it would have. It did. Leaving me breathless. Watching. Mute. © Tom Tide 2016