Nice day for a bike ride
On the bike path this afternoon, I passed a tiny child of maybe four years old riding her tiny bike with tiny training wheels, blonde curls creeping out her pearly helmet. Her dad, a balding man of forty, scooted her off the path where her tiny wheels sunk slightly into the soggy ground. I slowed to pass. "A beautiful day for a bike ride," she said.
Wait a minute! How did she know it was a beautiful day for a bike ride? Having been alive only a few years, how many midwinter springs could she have experienced? How many early January snow melts? How many Sunday afternoons when one notices the days are, indeed, longer again? Was that just a phrase she was parroting from some courteous adult, or was she some sort of savant?
Whatever the case, she was right.