I rode my bike home from work today, like I do every day. Every day, in one way or another I have to go up the side of that hill I live on. I know I will grow to hate that hill. I'm going to curse it, and dread it and avoid it. I'll pant, and sweat, and get so sick of having to treck home- even though climbing six flights of stairs was worse- that I'm not going to be able to stand it.

And then, soon after that, I'm going to conquer it.

I'll bike up that hill like I was being carried. It'll be easy, and my legs will be strong and show it. And I'll be proud of the hill and how hard it made me work.

Some days, I'll hate the hill again.

But I'll also know that I conquered it. And that makes it easier.

The bike ride home at night is short. However, its a cool bike ride, and I've always wanted to write a poem about it.

The absurd stillness of the empty street.
The blinding headlights.
The trees stretching over the street like an awning.
Like Hands.
A thousand tragic accidents replay over and over in my head,
thrilling and scaring me.
I stay extra alert.