It was 30 degrees F and mostly clear at almost 7 this morning as I rolled Rhododendron out for a ride on the Kickapoo Rail to Trail, determined to get back in the swing of Vélo du Jour!
Saw the end of a gigantic crane hovering over the Urbana Free Library, but had no idea what it was doing.
Rode east on Main Street. Stopped to see the handsome little oak grove across Main from the Dart plastic factory.
Stopped at Weaver Park, where the rays of the huge sun disc shown behind the dry remnants of yellow coneflower, Monarda, and bush clover. Soon reached the the trail, which sparkled with frost.The air was mostly calm, so in spite of the frost, it didn’t feel intolerably cold.
The sun was in my eyes and so my thoughts tended to go inward.
Thought of my friend who’d died a few weeks ago. Thought of his last days, of our last conversation.
Was glad to have seen him then and was able to say some of what I wanted to convey, but didn’t know it would be the last time we’d talk. So I “talked” to my dead friend, rewrote our last words to express that he mattered to me and I to him, sang him a James Taylor song, allowed myself to sit quietly with him instead of worrying about what I should or shouldn’t say. Thanked him for his friendship and wished him and his family, especially his children, well.
The not-yet-planted prairie soil spread out under the sky.
Rode on to the Salt Fork, where the first maple flowers were bursting over the water. Saw animal tracks I couldn’t quit decipher on the shore.
On the way back noticed some ever-decorative (a contrasting feature in the uniform landscape) milkweed pods.
Rode and rode homeward; it seemed like even Fulls Siding was far away. But reached and passed it eventually.
Thought about the meaning of “success” in regard to one’s children, of “successful” parenthood. Is it anything besides being there to hear and affirm their story, their journey, wherever it leads, to applaud the external landmarks but especially to encourage the inner ones?
Close to the trail’s end saw curiously uniformly torn and scattered bits of fur: I’m thinking hawk predation.
At the end of the trail was satisfyingly tired!