This morning at 7:20 am it was 43 degrees F, the sky packed with contiguous clouds in shades of grey and a fairly stiff north wind blowing.
Have been fighting a cold, and really did start to feel better during yoga practice. Included was the 5-minute Pascimottanasana prescribed by my teacher as this week’s “homework,” which started a little like “herding cats” (all those wandering thoughts!) but ended with a better relationship between the upper and lower halves of my body.
But still felt like I was not firing on all cylinders as I rode south on Race Street toward Meadowbrook Park.
Stopped to note that the lone shriveled apple still clung to “my” tree.
Did not completely relax into the rhythm of pedaling, my cold was a barrier, but eventually did smooth out some and enjoy the increased volume of breath that one gets from moderate exercise. The tail-wind (which I didn’t notice except in retrospect as a lack of resistance) helped.
At Meadowbrook the ice of last week was gone, making the path much less troublesome to navigate.
The water at the rabbit-statue bridge was quite high, and Davis Creek flowed in with certainty.
Heard and saw red-winged blackbirds, (with their several song variations), for the first time this year. Stopped for a shot of the wet area where they were abundant, where soon, if the past several springs were an indication, there would be blue flag irises, and, later in the season, rose mallows.
When the path turned north was greeted by head-wind. It was hard going. Felt colder today and more wintry than last week when there still was snow and ice around. So that’s what wind chill is about. Would not say I felt content, exactly: the discomfort limited my ability to connect with my surroundings. Still, there was satisfaction in being there, observing what was, discomfort notwithstanding. Hoped I could call up this state when I found myself in other kinds of difficulty.
Did not see a single deer. They must have been keeping out of the wind somewhere.
Farther on in the the dormant prairie, among the faded remains of last year’s growth of prairie plants, were a few standing Baptisia stalks, pods waving and clacking in the wind.