Earlier today, I wrote a post about something people might not associate with Spring: a survivor pedaling among the wreckage of Mariupol.
To me, this season is about the living beings who make it through winter--whether it's a season of cold, snow and darkness or the death and destruction of war (another kind of darkness) as well as the new life that rises, whether from the ashes or a well-tended garden.
Because I've encountered the latter on afternoon rides, I am more fortunate than the cyclist in my earlier post. It's funny, though, how Dee-Lilah (my custom Mercian Vincitore Special), Vera (my Miss Mercian), La-Vande (my custom King of Mercia) and Tosca (my Mercian fixie) always seem to find reflections of themselves.
Or, at least they, in their differing shades of purple, are drawn like moths to the flame of color.
Even if it isn't their own.
