When I leave work on my bike I leave behind all the stressful things.
I cruise home with the sun to my back and the wind in my face, and fly along the highway as though I have wings.
I slow down on the street out front of my house, my tail pipes rumble and I twist the throttle just a little to make ‘em sound off a bit more.
As I round the corner for the alley, I see my Georgia clear the stairs heading for the garage, racing to get ahead of me and as I pull onto the drive there she is, smiles and all having reached it just before.
With an outstretched hand she begs for the key, she opens the door and waits patiently as I stow away my bike, take off my helmet and then I see her staring intently at me.
She has one foot out the door, her back is facing me, her delicate little fingers wrapped around the molding, she waits, she’s impatient and I stall.
Just then, I take a step towards her and she bolts, before I get to the back yard she has rounded the side of the house and leaped over the first garden.
This is how it goes when I come home from work in the summer, I can barely keep up in my leather jacket and riding boots in comparison to her naked little feet, but as I gain on her she begins to giggle uncontrollably and her knees buckle and I fall on top of her and we both tumble and roll in the grass laughing.
There are few things in the world that can make a man’s heart completely fall apart and run like water, but for the unequivocal love and devotion of his youngest daughter.