The whole world seems to be on fire with sunlight.
I sit on the back of this '79 Honda with my arms clasped around him.
I press my cheek against his worn leather jacket and grin.
Because on the back of this bike with him, I have not a care in the world.
We cruise down a small country road lined with trees. The branches wave sweetly in the light breeze and the leaves gleam golden from the setting sun.
The sunflowers are abundant along the sides of the road and smile at us as we pass.
The days left of summer are limited.
Fall is coming.
I can feel it.
The air is cool. Crisp. Clear.
I am happy.
Because I am on this Sunday joy ride.
With him.
On our bike.
And even though it smokes like a forest fire and is older than both of us, it is still our bike.
We are two lovers on a motorcycle ride.
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