One Word Erased Every Pain by Clark Mahoney (room on the broom read aloud txt) 📕

trees, so massive, providing a home for birds, squirrels, and bugs alike.
“I love these trees,” she spoke to herself, as she meandered her way among them, along the trail.

Part III

Elisa had to be careful not to crash into anyone while she rode, but she couldn’t help staring at the beauty around her, to the left, to the right, and above her. Trees formed a canopy, a shelter for riders from the sun and the rain. She loved that about this ride. It was like riding through a tunnel, but with greens, and browns, and yellows, all around her.
“I wonder what creatures live in that tree,” she asked herself, riding along the trail.
“What is that?” she asked. A few yards up the trail. Over there. She could see something on the trail, a dark object, standing, unmoving, in the middle of the dusty trail. Closer she got, pedaling toward it slowly. Then, off to the left it scurried, hopping on its front feet, then back feet, then front feet, until it reached a tree. And, it magically climbed up about six feet, circling around the tree. It stopped, and stood there, hanging upside down like it was attached with Velcro. It eyed her as she rode past, offering a chattering cry of defiance, daring her to try to catch it. Ha! As if she could catch it. She’d seen dogs trying to catch squirrels, and never succeeding. She knew that she stood no chance, with its fluffy, flinching tail to provide it balance, its sharp claws to help it climb straight up tree trunks, and its beautiful gray coat to help it blend in among the gray oak trees.
“Hello, squirrel, and goodbye, squirrel,” she called as she pedaled past the noisy critter. She left it alone, to find more food, and to play a game of “Chase” with others of its kind, much more capable of catching than she.
“Will I see another deer?” she wondered. The last three rides, afternoon rides as the sun was preparing to set, but not yet ready, she’d come across a deer. She wanted to see one again. On one ride, she’d even stopped, to watch it eat for a few minutes. She knew how to be quiet, to keep from scaring away the wildlife. Shhhh! No talking. No quick movements. A young doe stood off to the left of the trail, near this part of the creek, eating a leafy snack. It looked at her with interest, but not fear, as she stood next to her bike, feet firmly planted on the ground. On her face was a smile, as she enjoyed getting this close to nature, to the animals that lived and slept outside, under the stars.
One of the safety things her father had taught her was to NEVER approach a deer. “They are wild animals, and they have no idea what our intentions would be” he’d warned her. And, they would either bolt in fear, or rear up in self-preservation, and attack. So, she remained calm, and distant, watching the doe chew on leaves.
After a few moments, a couple approached, walking along the trail, talking loudly about things that mattered to them. They had no idea that a deer stood a few feet of the trail, and that it really had no interest in their personal problems or concerns. She saw the deer’s ears go up in alarm at their approach, and her small tail and hind quarters wiggle in alarm. The deer looked to the left and to the right, wanting a way of escape from these noisome travelers. The calm that she’d seen in this deer at her approach had turned into fear at the approach of these two talkative adults. Off the deer bounded, up the other side of the hill, and away from the danger it sensed in these outlandish two-legged creatures.
Disappointed that her moment of silent observance had ended, she hopped onto her bike and rode off up the trail.
That had been a week ago, and she recalled the happiness she felt upon seeing the deer. And, she strongly hoped that one might be out eating its midday snack today. Hoped.
A lizard darted off the trail, just ahead of the bike tire, fearing death by the rubber tread. It ran with her as she rode, just out of reach of the front tire, as if playing a mad game of chance. She turned the handlebars to the left, careful to avoid the four-legged wanderer. “I’m sorry, lizard. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Too late, though, as it pushed its way up a pile of leaves, feet spinning as it sought the safety of a decaying pile off of the trail. She watched it scramble in panic to her side.
Farther up, two birds sat on the trail, eating tiny morsels. At her approach, one flew off to the right, while the other hopped up the trail for a few moments, then flew off into the bushes. Safe.
“Hello, birdies,” she called as she rode past them, sorry for disturbing their late afternoon meal.
This was turning into a great ride. She wished that her friend had come along, for she longed for human company. She enjoyed the shared moments, like these, with little critters scurrying away at her approach, and a friend to smile and laugh with her. She liked her friend, but rarely saw her, as they now lived on opposite sides of the valley, she on one end, and her friend on the other.  

Part IV

Elisa knew to keep her head up and her senses tuned to safety. Look. Listen. Be alert. Sure, it was fun to gaze to the left and right of the trail as she rode. There were always noises off in the bushes to pique her interest. And, there were often critters along the trail, lizards, beetles, frogs, and salamanders. But, traveling toward her oblivious to the little crawlers would be tires, and metal frames, and riders with helmets and gloves, intent on experiencing the thrill of speed. She did NOT want to meet them while riding in the middle of the trail, as she was doing now.
She heard them before she saw them. Brakes screeched, as she nearly collided with a rider coming around a curve. He’d been riding at a fast speed, in the middle of the trail, and barely saw her at the last second, yanking on his brakes.
“On the right. On the right,” she called, letting them know where she would be, moving out of their way. One, two, three, four, five riders almost plowed into her, and into each other, as they sped downhill, with barely a bike’s space in between. That wasn’t safe. She knew it. She’d been taught to leave several bike lengths in between you and another rider, so that if they stopped you wouldn’t run into them. Apparently, these young men, in their excitement and happiness, chose to disregard that little bit of biking wisdom, and almost paid the price. Helmets on. Bike gloves on. Brain off. Ha! She smiled at the near mishap, and waited on the side of the trail to let them go by.
“That was close,” she said to the first one. “This wasn’t such a good place to meet, I think.” She wanted to add something about being more careful, but she kept her tongue knowing that accidents were always a possibility while riding.
The secret to survival is to respond quickly, and decisively, when danger presented itself. Don’t close your eyes and hope it will go away.
Well, the danger was averted, and she was safe, so it was okay. This was not by luck or chance, but by quick, decisive thinking. “Bye-bye,” she called as they rode off, and she remounted her bike, riding up the trail again.
She heard a slight buzzing on her right, and saw a green dragonfly fly by. She loved how the sunlight sparkled on their wings, greens, blues, and purples throwing back light. Wishing she had one as a pet, she imagined where she could keep it. In the extra aquarium? In the garage? No. Forget it. Dragonflies were meant to fly among the oaks, out in the wild, seeking unwary insects to invite over for dinner. For dinner. Plus, they pinch little fingers that try to hold them captive.
Onward she rode, past more oaks, with vines hanging down from lofty branches. Each tree was surrounded by an assortment of small shrubbery. And, often a thicket of vines had wound its way up the trunk, and along the branches, seeking ever upward in its sun-seeking reach. She knew better than to grab these vines, as some of them were poisonous. She could see the poison oak, scattered among the trees, along the ground, and had frequently gotten a tiny patch on her skin. It wasn’t pleasant. Once, she had grabbed a vine, hung from it and swung back and forth, eventually pulling it down from a branch that was twenty feet overhead. It was fun, acting the part of Tarzan, but she had paid the price, as the oil had covered her gloves, and she’d touched her hips with these gloves. Two days later, the itching and bubbly, disgusting rash had told her that it was a mistake. Days of itching, lotion application, and displeasure followed, and she swore to never again grab a vine while on a ride along this trail.
Never again.
A shadow passed her on the ground, causing her to look up. There. An orange and black butterfly floated by, perching itself on a leaf. “Is that a monarch?” she asked. No, she realized that it wasn’t. It had a different coloration, with mostly orange wings, and a band of black spreading across from its body to the edge of the wing, along the middle. It’s not a monarch, or a viceroy, the mimic that benefits from looking like the distasteful monarch. Birds and lizards who sample the monarch’s delights soon realize that the monarch tastes terrible, and they avoid others that look like it in the future. The viceroy actually tastes good, but mimics the colors of the monarch in order to fool hungry predators. Well, this butterfly was neither of these. She swore she would find out once she got home.
Off it zig-zagged, the elusive dance that butterflies performed in order to confuse hungry predators.
“On the right,” she called again, as five more bikers exploded down the trail. A mixed group of guys and girls, they sped by safely on her left. She politely moved to the edge of the trail, in the grass, and continued pedaling. Giving way to downhill riders is a common courtesy, and she always followed it. The first one called out, “There are four behind me,” providing a warning, another common safety act. Warning approaching walkers or riders how many are in your biking group is another common courtesy on the trail.
The final rider called out, “I’m the last one” and