Cycling in the cold

The setting sun shone through the window and brightened the darkness. In a spur, I grabbed my bike and cycled toward the river.

 The temperature was close to freezing, but with each breath I felt refreshed. The icy coldness entered my lungs, cleared my insides and mind, while the  rays of orange that spread around the silhouette of naked trees along the canal was the colour of warmth and, strangely, of hope.

I sat on the river bank, listening the the water flow past me. The river was quick in its motion, whereas I stood still. The sun sunk on the water's edge, in a disappearing act that seemed to hasten the more the sun's face vanished into the river. I looked up at the trees around me, at the trees that in a matter of days had shed all their leaves. The autumn storm stripped them all bare, and now, looking almost dead and lifeless they are ironically prepared for the winter to come. In the distance, the metallic clinking echoed on a  bridge as the commuter train rushed to bring people to the safety and warmth of their homes.

The sun set, and almost suddenly the day descended into darkness. The cold grew colder, and I picked up my bike, zipped up my coat, put on my hood, and rode to the safety and warmth of my own home.