Solo

One early morning it was just my father and me and a pair of bikes. He knew, he said, of a dock that no one ever visited, a place where we might go and see the bay. We wheeled by lagoons, by an old abandoned swing, by a pond where I'd seen an alligator chasing a fisherman's fish the day before.

There was a break in the trees. A few abandoned-seeming boats. This wooden extension toward a borrowed bit of sea.

Far away a man was high in the sky, on a pair of paraglider wings.