Slowly, as I stand there, they return to their activities. I'd made them jump initially but they can see now that I am one of them, a friend amongst friends bathing in the glorious warmth of Spring.
Catkins dance in the breeze, moorhens bob their way across the expanse, squeaking gleefully. Two young birds erupt simultaneously from the depths and proceed to argue over who won the breath-holding contest.
A stalk takes flight, wheels around and returns to the exact same spot, just because he can. He has wings. Ironically, the faint drone of traffic serves only to further magnify the serenity of this fragile wilderness. I close my eyes. I'll have this moment forever. But never again.
In bike news: Sunday was utterly shredded at kilometre six and 120 riders went out the backdoor, never to be seen again! I made the cut, but in toiling away trying to make/create the day's break, as per team orders, I shafted my legs somewhat, and I was grovelling like nobodies business on the Plumelec climb (all seven times) in the finale. 44th is nothing to write home, or indeed a blog, about hence my diversion tactics above. The crowds were incredible at least, in their thousands, and that I enjoyed.
DMD
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