Nifty Saturday.

I ride my bike on this early, crisp summer morning. The air feels new, untouched by the cares and duties of the people still asleep in their homes. Sunlight peaks out from the trees, it's golden hues illuminating branches of the century-old guardians that line the boulevard. My bare legs are warmed with each passing of the long beams of light that shine between houses. Big band & swing music is my morning's soundtrack as I confidently roam the neighborhood streets, completely empty save for a determined runner.

My imagination takes hold--in my mind, my ipod is a dial radio blasting from my nonexistent handlebar basket; my shorts and oversized husky sweatshirt is replaced by a conservative yet flattering knee-length red dress. I am transported back to a different time, one I have never experienced but can only imagine--full of white picket fences, men returning from war, innocence, and prosperity. While there may not be a gang of neighborhood youths whose Schwinns will come up along side me to ride to the creek's rope swing....the day is young. Anything could happen.