February 13, 2011: The ride today was under the wings of Buzzards again! Also called Turkey Vultures, Chicken Hawks, and just plain Vultures, these gliders grace our sky when it is warmer. I don't see them in the winter. For this area, these big black birds leave around the end of October or early November. They are almost always back in our sky during February. For me they are indicators that Spring is just around the corner. Yes, there will be more of February, with it's cold. And there is always March to get through, with all the gray sky. But, the wings and sounds of summer are already hinted at.
As I rode out of town a voice hailed me from a doorway, saying, "No fair, I'm jealous." She was referring to the fact I was on my bicycle riding. I waved and yelled back, "Come on!" There will soon be more of us bicycling. I anticipate the restart of our weekly rides. Melt snow, melt!
Monday, February 14, 2011
Monday, January 17, 2011
Coming Soon to a ride near you.
Saturday's ride (1-15-2011) was a short 13.5 miles and I don't even look at average speed this time of year. There was one thing different about the ride. I could hear birds again!
The time riding with the birdless silence seemed long and dreary this year. From the flurry of their Fall activity, when they gathered into flocks, to the solemn silence in their absence, was a subtle change. At first I didn't appreciate the fact they were gone. Oh, there was a noticeable absence of wings and bodies in motion. I think my mind expected the activity to return soon. After several weeks with the birds becoming fewer and fewer, my ear searched for the sounds. Every ride confirmed there were not many fliers left to catch my eye with their flitting from branch to branch. The rare bird motion was quickly seen and I would turn to appreciate the mover. The quiet was confirmed again and again. My thoughts could not conjure enough memory to know the birds would return in summer numbers. Sights I beheld turned to still things, like snowdrifts, bare branches, and fields full of corn stubble. Sounds I sought were cold winds, tires crunching snows, or approaching autos.
It was such a surprise, even though it should have been expected, to hear the birds again. And what a joy it was to hear, "I am here," spoken in bird song. "I know you," my mind recalled. "You sound like the summer I remember from so long ago." And my eye searched for the motion so sure to accompany the sounds. Then, the sound was accompanied by sight. A small group of Robins was there, seeking something to savor. They flew a short distance and seemed to agree on what the group should be doing. Enjoying their motions, I rode by them, remembering flights over green grass instead of snow.
The warmer days will be coming soon. There will be a certain need for patience, as storms will surely intervene. I'll listen for the singers of Spring to be. They will find food and nesting sites while winter winds yet bite. All of us will be poised for passions. Mine for pedaling past wings in motion and theirs for procreation. Surely we are blessed with an earth tilted on its axis. Without winter to silence the commotion around us, how could we know the thrill of life renewed with warming sun?
The time riding with the birdless silence seemed long and dreary this year. From the flurry of their Fall activity, when they gathered into flocks, to the solemn silence in their absence, was a subtle change. At first I didn't appreciate the fact they were gone. Oh, there was a noticeable absence of wings and bodies in motion. I think my mind expected the activity to return soon. After several weeks with the birds becoming fewer and fewer, my ear searched for the sounds. Every ride confirmed there were not many fliers left to catch my eye with their flitting from branch to branch. The rare bird motion was quickly seen and I would turn to appreciate the mover. The quiet was confirmed again and again. My thoughts could not conjure enough memory to know the birds would return in summer numbers. Sights I beheld turned to still things, like snowdrifts, bare branches, and fields full of corn stubble. Sounds I sought were cold winds, tires crunching snows, or approaching autos.
It was such a surprise, even though it should have been expected, to hear the birds again. And what a joy it was to hear, "I am here," spoken in bird song. "I know you," my mind recalled. "You sound like the summer I remember from so long ago." And my eye searched for the motion so sure to accompany the sounds. Then, the sound was accompanied by sight. A small group of Robins was there, seeking something to savor. They flew a short distance and seemed to agree on what the group should be doing. Enjoying their motions, I rode by them, remembering flights over green grass instead of snow.
The warmer days will be coming soon. There will be a certain need for patience, as storms will surely intervene. I'll listen for the singers of Spring to be. They will find food and nesting sites while winter winds yet bite. All of us will be poised for passions. Mine for pedaling past wings in motion and theirs for procreation. Surely we are blessed with an earth tilted on its axis. Without winter to silence the commotion around us, how could we know the thrill of life renewed with warming sun?
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