My Alarm Clock

Every weekday morning, now that I have the bedroom window open for the season, a young man on a bicycle has been my alarm clock. I don't know what he looks like or where he's going. But every morning around the same time he rides down the hill in front of our house. Some mornings, like today, he is singing, in a young, pleasantly raspy tenor--probably whatever's on his iPod at the time. Some mornings he's chatting with a young woman riding along with him. Some mornings he just goes "aaaaaaahhhh" and lets the vibrations from the road make his voice warble like a little kid.

I hope he's not a kid from the nearby high school, because that means in a couple of weeks he won't be waking me up. I'll miss him.