Riding down the rapidly declining ***** on the bright, soft-water day, I imagine myself as nothing more than an animal falling down a waterfall into a lake clear and crisp. The wheels of my bike turn rapidly like the a propeller of a plane, just as powerful and just as dangerous if I fall, but only to me. Catching the sea salt breeze my blonde, sun bleached hair flies as if it were flying on seagulls wings. I am a cadmium yellow blur on a painting, moving much too fast to be captured and depicted accurately. I ride until the end of my ***** this way, finishing strong with out a hint of regret.
I was listening to a song and though of bright colorful Hayao Miazaki movies, and this poem is the love child of these two sentiment.