The sun settled behind the line of trees across the river, and the whole sky turned apricot. The water broke into fine ripples and threw the light back, and on the dirt path along the bank the shadow of a person on a bicycle lay stretched out long. Perched on the saddle with one foot on the pedal and the other touching the ground, the wheels are not rolling.
Watching a scene like this, the shoulders come down a little. The feeling of the hands loosening their grip on the handlebars, and the feeling of the ground's firmness rising up through the soles, arrive in that order. The eyes rest their focus on the water flowing far off and fix on nothing.
A hurrying mind runs ahead of the body from the moment the destination is set. The body itself is short of breath all day long trying to catch up.
Sitting as you are now, put your toes halfway to the floor, leave the other half in the air, and take three breaths. What if you left in your body the feeling of using only half your strength, like a pedal you do not press all the way down. The feet remember that this much is enough to keep rolling.
That same half-strength can be drawn out at the morning bus stop as well. While you look up at the display board to see when the bus is coming, it is worth checking whether the shoulders, pressed down by the bag strap, are at the same height on both sides. If one is a little raised, it is enough to note it as it is, and there is no need to strain to lower it. Comparing how different the shoulders at the bus stop are from the shoulders by the river is enough to fill the day's first observation.
Until all the light had drained away, that person probably did not set off.
