The bike, once new with silver handle bars glinting proudly in the sunlight

now stands

alone

Quiet.

Wheels still and chain rusted.

Dreaming of adventures long expired.

Roads past and fields crossed.

Wheelies once attempted by brave generations of children long since grown.

Scary feelings of small children trying to ride without falling.

Falling like the golden autumn leaves.

Balanced yet unconscious as the years pass with

steady hands gripping tight.