Flight

Couleur de vie, couleur de joie

I took the long route home today, even though it was late and I was starving. I just needed to feel alive. The highs of the weekends can make the lows of the weekdays unbearable. Its all about striking a balance or at least thats the theory. Blasting through a set of twisty bends, windows down is the best way home for tonight. The wind noise drowns out all your thoughts and the heart pumps in unison with the engine's pistons, one beat for blood one stroke for combustion, inhale, exhale. Even the synapses seem to be in sync with the electric pulse of the magnetic suspension, turning liquid semi solid and back again, as if the brain was reacting to the contours of the road. Mechanical.
Brake, down shift, turn in and power out. The routine is the same for every bend but vary the timing and you find yourself edging closer and closer to the trees on the apex. Tires screech, the smell of rubber fills the air and then blank. Self preservation snaps you into applying just that micro bit more lock and accelerator. Its ironic how being close to death makes you feel alive.