sixth cycling trip

And the snow kept falling. Slowly it wrapped everything, the bike tracks behind me as well, so I often looked back because I was afraid that I would never find the way back to the place I want. It must have been a long time since the gate of the graveyard was opened; the door handle was also rusty. I looked for a gap in the fence; I stepped over it to get in. I left the bike on the ground, nobody was passing by there anyway. I didn’t want to be scared and I wasn’t scared. I thought, dancing is happier among the living because I step to the left once so I can step to the right as well. Nothing is easier than that. The dance of the dead is simply more relaxed, it doesn’t matter which way you step nor how many times. I thought, I didn’t say it because I didn’t know how to say it, that once I worried so much that I cycled the whole night in frost and snow. I didn’t have lights, so the coachmen yelled at me. But now I didn’t know where to go, so I just tossed and turned sleeplessly. At the end of the cemetery I found the grave that I was looking for, but the name was not on it: it faded over the long years.