As I wind down my window piercing sounds of cicada instantaneously bash my ear drums with their high pitched drill echoing into the bush. Hot air swells into the open window, and is being pushed back out by the ice cold air conditioning which effortlessly hums out of the vents. The strong sweet smell of summer fills my nostrils with every breath I take. It was just like I had left it so many years ago. The rigid road leaves a enormous dust cloud behind me. It feels like I am a child once again me. It feels like I am a child once again freshly off my training wheels flying down this exact road feeling like a king with the dusty plume as my long flowing robe. Besides me, my royal subjects too are dogging the unsteady path. I make a left turn like I would on the way home school of an afternoon. The chitter chatter of squeaky voices fills the air. There was always a whole group of us. Sometimes there were more, or sometimes less, but my brother and I were consistent. Luke and I would be the last ones on the journey home. We would swiftly cycle through the neighbours lush meadow, full of cows grazing on the cud. We would spook them, rounding them up with our noble steeds so they would shyly run away. Soon after they would return to their peaceful state. When it had been raining the open ditch would swell with water, after the water had resided. Swollen blobs of mud would weigh down our tyres and anything in its path, making it almost impossible to cross. But instead of risking the long way home, Luke and I would charge straight through it. Most of the time falling head over handles bars into the gooey mess of mud. Reality sets in when the battered road I was an open turns smooth and black. Tiny speckles of tar stick to the mud guards and the once clean car. The hot summer breeze tames the dust storm behind me back to its original position.
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