There were four of us in matching puffy coats, waiting for the light to change. And I was the only one on a girl's bike (lovingly categorized as “vintage”), even though there were two other girls in the group. Clouds of heat puffed out of our chapped lips, and I regretted leaving my gloves at home. The girl to my right intrigued me. She had on dark green riding pants and a black velvet riding helmet perched on her short, blonde hair. Like you wouldn't be surprised to hear her say, “No, no Mummy. No time for tea. I must mount Chauncy and rush to the office.” Except that Chauncy wasn't a gorgeous brown thoroughbred, but rather a beat up BMX bike. And yet, she rode it with grace. I wondered, was she a time traveler? I saw that the one boy in the pack was also checking her out. Perhaps he was also confused by her contradictory appearance (even her stature was different than all of ours) or maybe he thought she was pretty. And the other girl smiled at me, maybe feeling left out from the silent exchanges somehow. She was brunette. That is all I can say about her.
And then the light changed and I kicked off, thankful for the sunshine.