(It must be magic, it makes my old jeans fit again!)
No, really. Magical. I go riding in the evening and glide past and through sparkles and patches and clouds of fireflies, sometimes blinking in sync, big, fat, bright ones that float through the air at the approximate angle of the "little people" from a children's book. It's remarkable in the green twilight of sunset along the well-wooded trail. It's almost too pretty to believe in.
Another bit of "magic" is the effect riding regularly has on my metabolism. It is as if the exercise reminds my body what do do with caloric intake, stepping everything up, leaving me more energetic for having done some honest perspiring rather than tired. And maybe that's exactly what happens. All I know is, Sherlock Holmes had more fun than Mycroft.
(Update: Typo corrected thanks to commenter).
CHICAGO RAILROAD FAIR, 1948
1 week ago