Stopping to look at a favorite place on a regular basis is one small pleasure of a routine ride to work. Observing the trees as the morning sun seeps over the horizon, or as a scene emerges from fog or mist, each unique reminders of being alive and awake in the world. It’s easy to rush by though and become absorbed by commuting and evaporating into music, talk, or simmering frustration. The price of stopping on the Vespa is small. A few minutes and the willingness to interrupt my forward motion. Sounds simple but it has taken me considerable practice to achieve.
I stopped on Thursday morning to watch the sunlight illuminate the pine plantation section of the Pennsylvania Military Museum. I’m still looking for the definitive picture of that stand of trees. I’ll keep stopping, probably even after I make that picture.
My wife and I walk there quite often; the now almost departed warm weather has taken us there recently. I love looking down into the stream and seeing what the seasons are doing to the plants among the rocks. It is also a reminder that what we have rests on the backs of many many people who supported our country.
She’s 5′ even and every time we walk up there among a century’s worth of armored vehicles, she asks if she can have a tank.
Evan: Sounds as if you and your wife explore the place just as Kim and I do. She hasn’t asked for a tank though. Not yet at least.
I’m off for my morning walk through the park to see what has changed since yesterday!
Stopping to smell the roses, or trees, or whatever, is some seriously good advice. Mental note to self to do that a llittle more often.
Love the morning view of the trees. The sun lighting them up that way is amazing. This year I hope to get those morning rides and see the world wake up like you do. But I could never manage pics as nice as yours. You have real skill Steve.
Harv
It’s the stopping the forward motion part that kills my photo efforts!
Stopping to view a favorite place on a “regular basis” on a long scooter ride (200+ miles) is also a joy. The feeling of being alive is similar. After leaving New Hampshire, crossing Vermont, and riding along US 20 in New York, I find Cherry Valley (and the herd of Beefalo across from the West End of the valley Rest Area) a delight. -postprandial75