First Tracks
The ride yesterday morning was one of those special outdoor times that are very hard to capture in words and nearly missed when you're experiencing it. You have to stop what you're doing and contemplate the subtleties.
It had snowed a little over night. There was only about a half inch on the ground, but it was enough to give everything that clean white look.
It was cloudy, but not in a way that was dark and brooding, but more of a soft and blanketing way.
Light was reflected everywhere. Granted not a very bright light, but light enough that you could see anything. I could almost see the heaviness of the world I was feeling.
It was like everything in the woods was present at once, yet not - tucked away sleeping in the snow under the blanket of clouds.
Gretchen and I were the first and only ones at the park. We laid the first (civilized) tracks on the trail, yet all the trails had been scouted out earlier by the many foxes and rabbits in the woods. There wasn't a trail a fox hadn't trotted. Though I never saw them, their tracks left a heavy presence.
The lake was frozen except for the middle. The waves that normally lap against the shores were quiet and covered in white.
I rode by houses that come close to the trail. I could see people sitting and waking in their heated lit kitchens. Though outside in the cold and snowy woods, I felt like I was the one really alive. The foxes and I were the ones experiencing life and the world around them. The people in their kitchens were full-size wax figures in a diorama dropped alongside the trail.
At one point I actually reconsidered. I asked myself what was I doing out at 7am riding my bike in the woods on January 12th. Was I that serious of a cyclist? Was I training for something that mattered, but I already knew the answer. I've stated it above. It wasn't about the cycling at all. It was all about being there and feeling it - feeling the world around me on the morning of Jan. 12th.
- b
It had snowed a little over night. There was only about a half inch on the ground, but it was enough to give everything that clean white look.It was cloudy, but not in a way that was dark and brooding, but more of a soft and blanketing way.
Light was reflected everywhere. Granted not a very bright light, but light enough that you could see anything. I could almost see the heaviness of the world I was feeling.
It was like everything in the woods was present at once, yet not - tucked away sleeping in the snow under the blanket of clouds.
Gretchen and I were the first and only ones at the park. We laid the first (civilized) tracks on the trail, yet all the trails had been scouted out earlier by the many foxes and rabbits in the woods. There wasn't a trail a fox hadn't trotted. Though I never saw them, their tracks left a heavy presence.
The lake was frozen except for the middle. The waves that normally lap against the shores were quiet and covered in white.
I rode by houses that come close to the trail. I could see people sitting and waking in their heated lit kitchens. Though outside in the cold and snowy woods, I felt like I was the one really alive. The foxes and I were the ones experiencing life and the world around them. The people in their kitchens were full-size wax figures in a diorama dropped alongside the trail.
At one point I actually reconsidered. I asked myself what was I doing out at 7am riding my bike in the woods on January 12th. Was I that serious of a cyclist? Was I training for something that mattered, but I already knew the answer. I've stated it above. It wasn't about the cycling at all. It was all about being there and feeling it - feeling the world around me on the morning of Jan. 12th.
- b
posted by JenBob at
6:20 AM
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