Tuesday, February 11, 2020
Open spaces. Feeling lost. Still knowing exactly where I was. Part of me trying to run away. The other part of me trying to find my way. The unplowed snow covered gravel service road so much slower than when I had last ridden it last summer. The loose rock surface now completely covered with deep tire ruts in the firm snow. In my mind, the distance that I had to cover seemed so much less than what it felt like as I was pedaling through it. The boundless energy, and engaging conversation with the old lumberjack over an hour ago, were but a distant memory. The humble logger had reminded me of my dad. He was impressed by my bike, not expecting to see someone riding way out here, especially in the dead of winter. We were both impressed by how gorgeous and peaceful it was in the woods that day. I struggled to keep moving as the road crested. Out of the forest, into the open. Against the frozen field backdrop, I felt as lifeless as this iced meadow looked. I thought about the dormant life under the heavy snow blanket. Buried. Unable to move. Its vitality also concealed. Idling. It knows that its time to blossom and shine will come. The pasture isn’t in a rush as it waits for Spring under the snow. Nature is never desperate. It just patiently waits. Winter’s pace is definitely slow-moving. But, it’s still forward. Open spaces.