Lately, Fabian and I have been going for bike rides in the evenings. It’s a lot of fun and it’s a work out, which is a good thing, considering I have gotten too lazy to go to the gym this past month.
Last night, we found a road, which for whatever reason was never incorporated into the nearest subdivision. It is lined with houses, both new stucco construction and old, one story ranch houses. As we rode along the road, Fabian commented on how it felt like we were out in the country or something. The area is still heavily wooded and the air felt thick. It is seemingly out of place in a suburb where the developers have basically cleared the land to build houses and then planted teeny, tiny saplings to act as “trees”. The lack of trees is also the reason for the absence of what I consider to be the quintessential sound of summer: locusts. There is something about the noise they make that takes me back to the summer days of my youth. It makes me think of lemonade, swimming, and fleeting summer love. Anyhow, last night, I heard the locusts along that country road for the first time since we’ve lived here. It was music to my ears.