It was 43 degrees F at 7:48 this morning under thinly cloudy skies as I departed on Shadow for Weaver Park.
Meadowbrook would have been satisfying even if it were the only place to go, but wanted to check out another favorite place, so headed east on Main Street, stopping for a view of the little oak grove across Main from the Dart plant.
Was surprised by the volume of traffic already on Main Street and wondered whether that was why I didn’t see the fox I have seen there several times before, though only on Sundays. Maybe that explains it.
Stopped at the first sign of non-living but beautiful plant forms at Weaver.
There were goldenrod,
Monarda, or was it false sunflower?
Thought of being content with just that, but the path was so accessible I couldn’t resist following it a little longer, first to the right, where there were a lot of blackberry brambles,
and then to the left, bordered by old oak trees.
Saw an abundance of of brushy, dark-brown bush clover seed heads.
And oh, the refreshment of standing under a stream of flying (common sometimes to the point of pestilence, but still) wild geese
Then a surge of energy, provided perhaps by this refreshment, as well as thinking of the birth, late last night during the full moon, of my newest great nephew(!), carried me off farther east on Main, through the Beringer subdivision to High Cross Road over I-74 and east on Airport again to Cottonwood Road. Felt like I barely pedaled!
Crossed US Rte 150 and beheld with joy, gratitude, and anticipation the incipient Kickapoo bike trail!
Proceeded south on Cottonwood, which still sported a bordering strip of snow.
Then the almost effortless ride became noticeably effort-full as I pointed Shadow to the west on Washington Street.
So it goes. Sometimes life is easy, sometimes it’s hard, it can be either way at any time. And hard is not necessarily horrible, thought not to deny that horrible sometimes happens. It was not happening today, however. Just pleasantly challenging. I like to think we have some degree (not unlimited!) of choice about whether to view a difficulty as horrible or pleasantly challenging. It depends on our inner state, which has its own parameters.
Back in town, just east of Lierman Road stopped for a splash of color along the bike lane:
on the ground were little bright-red haws that had clung to their branches through most of the winter until they came down last night, or not much before. They made me anticipate the coming spring and its move away from muted, neutral shades and into color.