Hello, dirt.

She fell today.
It wasn't uncommon, but it was her first, as she'd just learned the art of bicycle riding. Hoping to cool her head, she rode into unregulated territory - her place. She hoped to find peace and quiet for a restless heart and mind, to leave her disquiet behind. But fate impishly guided her elsewhere. As she reached the edge of the edenic circle with a sigh, grateful for the expected calm, and unseen obstacle heaved the bicycle, toppling her over. She stretched her arms to catch herself, feeling them jar with the impact, tremors racing up her arms, and rolled to avoid kissing the earth with her face.
With jittery breathing and a conglomeration of stinging and aching beginning to overwhelm the shock of the fall, she took stock of her injuries. Two scraped palms, one bruised knee. Satisfied, she curled up, cheek to dirt, gravel, dirt, dry grass pressing against her, offering a temporary haven.
It's not so bad. Fear of the fall is worse than the fall itself.
She felt the rustle of the trees, the speeding of cars, the chatter of life around her, and she listened.
Quiet.
Knowing no one would find her where she lay, she dusted herself off, careful not to wipe the blood streaming from her palms on the bicycle or her clothes.
Discovering that the chain had slipped, she limped home, wheeling the bicycle beside her.








i used to think people caught you when you fell.