Short Lived

From the top I gaze down on the steep slope covered in short grass
Summers blue sky collides with treetops for the forest below
At its feet the green green grass meets the brown grey trunks
But all I see is not the picturesque scene rather a rollercoaster
With my bike between my legs there is nothing but my countdown to wait
3, 2, 1, and off I roll, pedalling to gain more speed through the crisp air
Constant light now flickering, jumping off branch, and leaf, and trunk, and mud
Bush, and thistle, and logs, and stones, into my squinting eyes
Up and down, left and right, this way and that until the track abruptly ends
By a rickety old gate covered in rot and moss but seeing many more years than I
So back I go to the hills, out of the woods to await my countdown once more

By Pete Scopes