I am an insect, carapaced, visor-faced and joyful. Smaller than other travellers, I fight the air’s viscosity and feel its every rip and eddy, its waves of coolness under trees and its warmth over sunlit fields and tarmac.
You hear me before you see me, black like a beetle but noisier than a hornet. In crowded, slow-moving traffic, you envy my manoevres as I slip past you, armoured, masked and anonymous, revelling in my freedom of road.
I am an insect, afraid of rain and cold, vulnerable to my mistakes or others’, easy to break or crush. Give it up and get a car, people tell me… but every day of sunshine tells me otherwise. I am an insect still, faceless and invisible, solitary, content.
©2018 by Fiona M. Jones
Fiona rides a Yamaha RX-S 100. She has had it for nearly a quarter of a century.