On a bike. On a path. In the woods. Just rained.

Mud always sprays all around like the spotted redness of horror films especially when I twist the handlebars, curve the back wheel around at a sharp curve. This isn’t just a digging into the bowels of nature. We spray everything, marking each thing as ours. Every object. A tree, a path, this food, that animal, this person, that person, this idea, that philosophy. If it isn’t ours yet, it will be soon. And everyone acknowledges our conquest.

Our tracks are impossible to hide. If others follow our lead, they will find us. Even if we try to hide. They tread over the tracks. Even after a dry spell, the treads are the most natural pattern we know.

– Kevin Risner