foggy morning

Lancaster County is beautiful in the early morning. A shroud of mist, like so much cotton batting lies over the cornfields and in the stream valleys. Tendrils of fog snake across the road, their insubstantial fingers grasping, yet easily whisked away by the breeze of my passing.

The horizon is lit with a warm golden glow, holding the promise of the rising sun; Summer reaching out to take a final stand against the chill of autumn and the frigid grey overcast of winter.

Birds flit amongst the mist, seeking an early morning meal, as lights come on in the houses along the road, heralding the coming of another day.

I zip past on my two wheels, lost in the feel of the wind and the beauty of the morning. If any hear my passing, none make an especial effort to watch.

I am one with the morning creatures, lost in the mist and the fog, flying, while still firmly on the ground. I have never felt so alive as in this moment.

The moment passes, my destination is upon me, but I shall return again to the call of the road and the hands of the wind. The mist will again lay itself upon the fields, and I will ride.