I arise, a little weary, to face the day. Dawn is breaking as I do, though the days are growing longer, and ever so slowly warmer as the year wears on.
Several hours later I reflect on my morning, in equal parts wonder and appreciation. :)
As I left home this morning the sun was a pale gibbous light wavering through a misty shroud, dew gleaming on the grass and a faint fog rising off the dips and hollows. Calm, peaceful, serene.
By Woodend I was riding through a shroud of fog, wiping the visor repeatedly, sound muffled, sailing through a cocoon of isolation.
Past Macedon the fog lifted, the sun broke through the cloud, and shafts of golden light speared down to set the dewy grass aflame, and the moment felt truly precious.
By Gisborne the sky was a leaden grey, heavy and low, the wind a triksy imp, tussling this way and that, laughing gleefully as I passed a truck or large SUV (or was passed by more oft than not).
Four shades of Central Victorian morning on one ride, and every one of them beautiful in its own way.
For that hour and a bit I am transformed, alone, serene, totally at peace. In a very zen-like way I am in the moment. Focussed on my bike, the road around me, the road. Nothing else matters. It is like doing Kata, finding perfection in the movement, totally absorbed in the flow. The sense of self seems to fade. Or maybe expand. Hard to describe, but tose who meditate will know what I mean I think. A moving meditation, at 110 kilometers per hour.
Who'd take the train?