biking on backcountry farm roads

A brook babbles it’s insane laughter.
The summer sun drenches my body in sweat, I glance over fields filled with tall alfalfa grass, swaying gently in the wind.
My mind goes back to the tall grasses of Kenya, where big cats hunt for their prey.
Here horses slowly swing their tails in synchronicity, like a metronome.
Cows chew their cud lazily.
Asphalt turns to gravel, then to dirt upon which I turn the pedals clockwise, propelling me towards empty space.
Abandoned cottages, barns in bright red, faded blue, a dark green. I see them in the clarity of a black and white photograph.
Solitude.
I come to a monastery, and revel in the serenity of the moment, biking on back country farm roads.

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1 Comment

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?