Morning After a Storm

My bike ride this morning became more pleasure than exercise as I kept stopping to gawk in wonder at the glory of the day. The sky, scrubbed clean by last night’s driving wind and rain, is a rich cobalt blue festooned with fluffy, arctic-white clouds. Emerald hills, yellow mustard, orange poppies, a brilliant flash of red on the wing of the blackbird flushed from the shoulder high wildflowers as I pedaled by - nature’s colors seem plucked from a child’s box of crayons today - no shade or subtlety, just pure, saturated hues.

I stopped to check on the family of mallards I have been watching on the canal. The ducklings scooted in and out of the reeds by the bank, as the current was strong from last night’s rain. Along a farther trail an elegant egret and I silently eyed each other until she got spooked and spread her astonishing wings and glided across to the opposite end of the pond.

“Beauty and grace are performed whether or not we see them. The least we can do is be there.” Annie Dillard