Although the day was almost as mild as yesterday was, I didn't ride. In fact, I barely got out of my apartment at all. I wasn't the only one who stayed indoors: The driving rain that began some time early this morning seemed not to let up.
As much as many of us would like to think Spring has sprung, some things tell us otherwise:
Stretching toward the light of a sun that is beyond them, their wizened fingers must weather the wind and rain, for now. They remind me of what Robert Browning wrote in Andrea del Sarto: "Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp/Or what's heaven for? All is silver-grey/Placid and perfect with my art: the worse!
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