First of all, they are not identical twins. They look nothing like each other.
“We aren’t related,” I once heard them say, in unison.
Roses the Twins live with blue herons upstream where the river slows into little mirror pools. They are about my age, whatever that is. Like me, they have lived in newMain as long as I can remember. It makes them smile to be addressed as Roses. They have such nice smiles and so that is what I do.
Roses the Twins share a bicycle. Not a two-seater, mind you. They are always coming up with a new surprise when they ride their bicycle.
I’ve seen them riding with Roses the Twins on the seat while Roses the Twins pumps the pedals standing up. Another time Roses the Twins sat on the handlebars, legs stretched forward on either side of the front wheel, Roses the Twins on the seat behind her, both hands on the handlebars. Oh, and I saw Roses the Twins sitting pretty as you please on the bicycle. arms straight out to the side, while Roses the Twins ran alongside pushing the bicycle.
One day I saw all three in the Evening Meadow, both Roses the Twins and the bicycle. They were stretched out on a picnic blanket, eating little sandwiches of homemade bread and some of the cheese Ginny sells.
Even the bicycle looked happy.