As the temperatures finally warm to more seasonable readings, I'm starting to get my cycling legs back on—and my sit bones used to being in the saddle for multiple days in a row. Butterflies are starting to catch up, too, after this cold and rainy spring, so that gives me something to look at while I cruise at thirteen miles per hour.
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| Carmen took this picture for me. Red Admirals rarely pose. |
About a mile from home last night after a ride to Akron, I stopped by a friends' house. I've been feeling pretty tender lately and was craving some real human interaction where people don't freeze or look flattened. My friends have an expansive open but covered porch, and I knew that based on the time and temperature, I would most likely find them there having dinner. I could also smell the barbeque ribs from the street.
As I pulled into their yard and said hello, interrupting their meal, I choked back tears. Most anything can bring me to tears lately, like making eye contact. Carmen said they were just thinking of me as they had been watching a pair of Red Admirals flit around the yard for most of the day. They appeared for me, too, and were with me the entire time I sat on my bicycle in their yard, more than six feet from the porch, a picket fence further dividing us. One Red Admiral grazed my bike helmet several times, even landing there for a short time and then landing again on my bicycle mirror. As it flew by again and again, I could hear its wings opening and closing, a magnificent and rare sound that is like a little click but softer. I felt so loved at that moment, so graced by these delicate winged creatures that never fail to steal my heart or amaze me. Butterfly love. Human love. The essentials.
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| A pearl of grace |
Today, at one of my customary stops along a bike trail I frequent, I noticed a little something moving on the rocks beneath me. "A skipper?" I thought to myself. No, a Pearl Crescent, my first of the season. Seeing a Pearl Crescent is a lot like seeing a robin; they're everywhere and after a while, not so special. I will probably see hundreds of them by the time the season winds down in the fall. I crouched down in my spandex shorts (sorry, world) and photographed it as it opened and closed its wings. It looked pretty fresh. A family stopped at the intersection where I was and asked if I was ok (that is a lovely thing to do, by the way). "Yes, there's a butterfly," I replied and pointed to the ground. "I look like I'm in distress, but I'm actually in ecstasy." And with that awkward statement, they were on their way and soon I followed, held by wonder, remembering again that grace often comes to me in two-legged or six-legged form, a phrase borrowed from a dear friend and mentor, now deceased. (I know some of you are partial to four-leggeds, and that's ok, too)
I'm ready to get my cycling legs and grace on once again.
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