We Saw It First.

Not a cloud in the sky and a fading blue from horizon to upper atmosphere. Panama rocks out over a fuzzy PA system and the familiar flap-and-glint of yellow caution tape catches my eye. I like how the tape shakes in the breeze. Its energy is the breath of a moving peleton. I am sitting, perched on a man-placed slab of rock. The sun is changing the color of the right side of my body. My right thigh, my right arm, my right cheek and earlobe. My legs are slightly elevated, resting on a green and gray striped messenger bag. To the left of my legs, in the shade of my head, there sits some crinkled tinfoil holding half of a tuna fish, yogurt, and raisin sandwich. The other half is in my stomach. I watch racers on an inclined, right hand turn. Some of them keep it upright and some of them do not. Either way they are directly in front of me and the sun and a man-placed slab of rock.

When I think of cross I think of cowbells and mud, sandy shoe ratchets, a low-set sun, and adult beverages. Certain people come to mind, too. When I think of cross I think of painted roots and wooden steps, things stinging and stinging things, screaming brakes, shaped-shaved legs, and arm warmers tarnished with snot. When I think of cross I think of blurred sidelines, sore right shoulders, and the unconventional. I think of shivering yellow caution tape and the dispersal of a breathing peleton. I think of warm autumn afternoons molting into solid winter days. I think of frozen toes, frozen earth, and thawing light. When I think of cross it is in distinct and unmistakable snippets, just like certain retained memories we can't explain, yet stick with us anyway. I suppose cross is a lot of different things to a lot of different people, and that's ok, so long as it is always something important to someone who cares more than a little. Because perhaps that is how certain things keep on living, or at least how they are resurected, like looked-over people or long forgotten youth.

Maybe now when I think of cross, purposely placed slabs of rock and the warm feel of a mid-September sun will be there. Maybe the sound of not keeping it upright on an uphill turn will be there, or the taste of tuna fish and raisins. And of course, in the same pocket as these pieces, will rest the infinite glint of shivering yellow tape and the unstoppable movement of a people in motion.