Crossed Spokes

A commuter bicycle stood resting against an iron fence post along the curb, its front wheel resting motionless in the afternoon light. I stepped beneath the curved sweep of the rubber tire, looking directly into the wheel's silver interior. Slender steel spokes radiated outward from the central hub, crisscrossing each other in a steady, repeating lattice. Near the bottom rim, a dry sycamore seed pod hung caught by its brittle stem. I braced my feet against the asphalt and gave the pod a measured nudge with my snout. It slid along the wire until it settled firmly into the intersection of two crossed spokes, held tight by the metal tension.