Missing the Bear

The guy at the bike shop in Florence waited for me a little after five o'clock closing time, since I told him that I had to come on the bus, and it was late. He said he just lubed it and replaced a brake cable, but the noises are gone and it pedals more smoothly. I was silly with happiness to be on it again, even in shorts and bare-headed in a cool, spitting rain. I got on the bike path, and was gazing down at the handlebars, trying to listen to the bike, and generally admiring the shininess, but a guy with a dog was looking at me at the first intersection.

"Did you see that black bear?"
"Huh? No."
"A black bear crossed the path right in front of you. It was huge."

Makes me wonder what else I'm missing. I've been thinking of myself as so alert compared to the drivers who pull out right in front of me and then give a little wave, if they see me at all.

The trees were so green in the rain, and I saw a small red bird. Wheels on wet asphalt make inland oceans of sound.