So I took a one hour biking break. Fighting the moving clouds of yesterday. Airing out my heart. Letting go. Thinking about the next chapter. Then I turned the corner.
There was a women’s prison gang clearning brush along the street. I slowed down. I waved. I slowed down some more. And then I imagined each one of their lives. It was not what you might think. The bleached blonde, the grandma with the grey hair, the young one driving the tractor, three very big women pushing and pulling at the wild reeds who must have very bad ankles. And one guard at each end. Guns, Leather belts. A long line of weeds that will start growing again before they even finish.
One of them turned to watch me, resting on her rake, as I rode towards the open fields, places with no locks, the edge of the water. Tonight when they sleep the smell of sweat and sun will be on their pillows. Somone will have tucked a flower into a pocket. They will remember the bird, as big as an eagle, that flew directly overhead.
I will sleep here thinking of the same things. A world apart. Sun on my own pillow. A night prayer of hope for each one of them.