In the murmuring whir of the gym fridge, from my exercise bike throne, I watch a pair of white shoes pumping on the cross trainer. The heels don't quite touch down.
For some reason I think of the birds, heavy winged and daring, that wait in the lanes until the last minute before lifting their feather skirts up and away from the oncoming car.
I wonder what it takes to fly: what brain impulse, what muscle flex, what urgency.
I imagine them bending their bird knees and pressing down their yellow heels as the road trembles beneath them.
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