Oatmeal with Mixed Berries

The word I cannot spell. The word is in no dictionary. The word does not exist. The word is a sound. The sound is clear. The sound resonating in my left ear, still. FMMNFT! Or maybe TMKTF! Or possibly WPTKF! 

There is no word or combination of letters or enough exclamation points to phoneticize the sound. The sound of my left shoulder impacting a tree cannot be enunciated. The word I blurted when I glanced the tree at 10 mph can be spelled. The type of tree can be spelled. All the elements of this bike experience can be spelled, easily. Not the sound. 

I smiled the instant after I blurted. Ok, more of a sneer. The kind of split-second half-smile  you might catch Clint Eastwood pull, just after he's been shot but not killed. Well now he's just mad and people better scatter. Right, I know I'm no Eastwood. But the goddamn tree did NOT knock me off my bike. I spit, I cussed, I pedaled, I did NOT stop, I did NOT slow down.

It's in the agreement with Paradise. I break her and she breaks me. Fair, simple, and clear. 

So, why do I have a picture of a bowl of oatmeal with mixed berries? Because that is exactly what my shoulder looks like: pasty white skin with the lumpy texture and color of oatmeal, add to that a fresh bruise that's purple, red, and swollen from the trauma. 

It's either that or I post a picture of my shoulder and no one needs to see that. That was abundantly clear when my wife caught a glimpse of it tonight and just shook her head, and I just smiled. No sneer, smile.