The Gloaming

It’s late afternoon and I’m out the door, up over the hill. It’s golden hour, the cusp of dusk. I pedal fast up the hills trying to beat the looming dark, the sun is shining brightly on the limestone of Rathlin’s cliffs but it won’t last. I need to buy a high vis vest and find my bike lights, I shake my head at my scatty brain. There’s no way I’ll remem…