Twilight, the gloaming: a time whence dreams meld with reality and diffusing light brings peaceful tranquility.
The advance of Spring, the approach of Summer bring a building anticipation of twilight walks, sails, and rides. Such are moments to treasure forever. I shall.
I'm thinking of European cruising and that, as always, brings me back to memories of Germany, Austria and Switzerland. Those countries host some of the most scenic ride possibilities one could imagine.
Frankfurt is a city I only cruised through. If I could visit again I would actually slow down and visit. I was only 20 then, and slowing down at age 20 is not such a high priority.
I must go again. I want to meet the people and feel the place for what it is and for what it has been. One must stop to feel the true sense of a place.
Wisdom is finally sinking into me.
It's Easter, and people around the world celebrate Spring, renewal and faith in all manners of practice.
Peace be with all.
There are those who see clouds and forget that a fine moon is shining brightly down. Clouds are just puffs of vapor; they move on as quickly as they came. The moon, however, is immutably omnipresent.
Our perspective is important to living well. When rain falls upon the ride, don raingear. When snow falls, go skiing. When Spring returns, get on that bike again and ride again.
That's a healthy perspective on life, no?
This is an outstanding photo of one rider, one desert, and the reflection of light so bright.
Waves crash upon rock and sand is born.
Rains drop upon soil and green growth is caressed.
Sunshine falls upon us and a smile is seen.
Adventure comes upon us and life is renewed.
There was a time I reveled in solo travel. Continents slid beneath the wheels of my motorcycle; miles melted into other miles and all was well.
Lately I've realized that experiences unshared are experiences unperfected.
Even jellyfish know enough to share a current and live well.
It's time we learn this too. Find your perfect soulmate and float around the currents.
Our human lives are so very short. Mother Earth , however, hosts other species, like trees, that live very long lives.
"Methuselah," a Bristlecomb Pine in California, for example, is over 4,700 years old. She was alive and growing when the pyramids were built in Egypt.
Trees have witnessed so much of life. They've hosted families of birds, insects and mosses. They've endured childrens' hatchets, lovers' carvings, earth's storms, and every extreme of temperature one can imagine. Yet they thrive; they grow ever upward toward the sun.
We can learn a lot from these wooden pillars of knowledge. Perseverance in the face of adversity might be lesson #1. Improvement in the face of threatened failure might be lesson #2.
I like trees.
There truly is art in life. Birds on the wing, wind in one's hair, a tree poised on a mount: all are art in action, art in life.
Truly gifted photographers, like BlueDjinn, have an eye that see such moments in just the right time and frame to capture them for us. What talent!
Fly bird, fly with the gusts that rise from the water and lift our souls high into the heavens above.
Yesterday was just about perfect for a first day-long cruise. Sunshine was abundant, and though the air never warmed above "chilly," the riding gear (full leathers) kept the riders quite comfortable. I was so pleased that my old friend Bill had agreed to make this run wiith me.
Our route to the ocean took us through sweeping farmlands, still-snow filled woods, and even past iced over ponds. Passing through the historic town of Exeter, we rumbled amidst row after row of Phillip Exeter's ivy-covered brick facades.
Sculls were on the Exeter River, rowing down toward the River's convdergence with Great Bay. Colorful birds jarted about in the gloriously blue sky.
On reaching the ocean, we stopped to watch the waves gently crash along the shore. The air took on acooler feel: the seabreeze was building.
We drove north toward Maine, stopping for more panoramic ocean and island views in North Hampton and Rye. A song bird flew into a bush only feet away. He sang and sang happily, even as I approached quite closely to snap a photo.
Later, as we crossed the Marshes of Rye, we saw several pairs of Swans resting, preening, and eating in the still waters. (I've never seen swans in Rye before.) They were likely in a migratory manner, stopping only for a bit. My they were lovely.
Rounding the twisting southern Maine coast, we rode the fabulous routes 103 and 236 up around Kittery Point into York, Maine. From there we moved north to Ogunquit to visit another friend.
Late in the day, we rode south for the return home. Yet an entirely different route was choosen, this Route 91 through the Berwicks and down into Dover, New Hampshire.
From Dover to Durham, where we stopped briefly to say hello to my sons at University.
Our final leg brought us through farm and field again, and finally back to the City around 6 pm.
Sun and wind burned from our 150 mile March Road Run, Bill and I smiled broadly. "That was a great day," he confirmed.
"Yes, a great day indeed," said I.
Posts
All Comments
