When I decided to start biking to work, I was afraid I’d end up exhausted. But this was the result:
The wind and tremble from passing trucks, the weariness from a long day at work; it all seems to fade the moment I turn my bike onto my road.
The road home- it’s the most beautiful road in the world.
I reduce my pace to a lazy peddling. It gives me enough time to enjoy the ride, and also saves breath for singing. Praise just seems natural here.
Straight ahead I see the mountains, mottled deep blue with the shadows of the passing clouds. The dusky purple seed heads of the neighbour’s hay fields contrast with the glowing buttercups. On the other side of the road I can barely see the sheep as they sit amid thick and towering grass. Flanking the roads, the wild roses are blooming. They hide the trilling birds, and I slow to see if I can catch a glimpse of a sparrow.
Another biker, also on the way home from work, passes. We share a wave in a fleeting gesture of fellowship, before continuing in separate directions.
I shoulder check when I reach my driveway, but the motion is wasted on this quiet country road, so without interruption I swerve under sweeping willow branches that overarch my driveway.
Now that I’m home, I can sit and rest my sore limbs. But the ride home was rest for the heart.