he doesn’t like riding in the dark

but I’m quietly thrilled by it, as this second evening of the year sinks into the season’s coldest night. We take our bikes north on the trail, return traffic on the George Washington Parkway to our left, the Potomac River to the right. My lights are nearly dead, and I’m navigating by the yellow dotted line that divides the trail, four or five dashes at a time. The willows along the shore are stripped to the bare tendrils of branches. I look over my shoulder to find his light behind me. We approach the city, cross a bridge, take the road around the back end of the Lincoln Memorial, then around to the front. He rides ahead. I slow at the plaza before the marble steps to watch the cameras flash in the dimmed chamber.