one harmonized left and lost language

a sun still slung so low, we're coming for ya, keeping pace. one slow expansion, one gamed expression. we never tend to the fact of an idea in that we don't see light, we make some sense of what it illuminates once an entangled dance reigns a vibratory stimulus. often with music, little waves, of lyric'd language I don't understand, some praise-ish chants unfamiliar. sincere human voices as fortunate instrumentation.

Yesterday, bike rides with Stevie. he said, I think it gets gnarly, the trail between blackberry bushes and so I stepped into my bike anyhow. twenty seconds later, before I was able to clip into my pedals, I hit a football sized rock, still half submerged in dirt and it bounced me off my line, towards the hillside. abort mission and too the left where I was met with thorns and a decreasing gradiant down to the train tracks about seven feet below where I had been. meet gravity. I jumped and revisited using my acl-less knees. sitting there, half stunned I just jumped down a small cliffside I heard Stevie ask where I went.
reclaiming my reality, feeling myself out and knowing I was alright, just a bit bloodied from the thorn war above, I found a trail up to where my bike still laid and gathered it along wth the normalcy of place, the trail. right, theres that. my two-wheeled partner was glad to not be carrying me up out of there, we laughed a child-like laugh and pressed on, stand by me style down the tracks in search of a youth most leave behind come their early twenties.
Following the spilled railroad rocks held in place by the paralleling train tracks, sorta above sorta beside, we came across Portlands secret beach, some cement slabs where building once stood and a clever tribe of skateboarders tried to reclaim by building our well known ramps, boxes, and rails. a DIY spot rendered DIT or did it themselves. no defunct, the city or land owner said nope, and destructed evolution. In the name of a water front boardwalk I'm told.
Some discovery, a better-feeling knee, and the underside of the St Johns bridge, a quick opt for forest park, some grounds already covered, familiarity didn't necessarily win but it did sound nice. Once up top, I fell over there too.

I get it, I don't get it.

7a. N. Portland.