Ok, I’ll admit it. When I woke up to gray skies and blustery winds, I considered *not* taking a bike ride today. I mean, I enjoy spending time in the smallest chain ring, but I just wasn’t sure I felt like working that hard this morning. S. pointed out that I could always go out for a short ride and come right back. Excellent plan. I donned my layers, took a right out of the driveway this time, and headed toward town. About half a mile in I was reminded that it is always a good idea to go for a ride. The wind wasn’t bad and the views went on forever. I stopped right before Inverness to watch a couple of horses snack on hay, and I heard the gurgles of so many birds. I snapped this picture of part of the crazy stretch of birds flying together against the clouds. Everyone was headed the same direction, but at intervals three or four would turn around and, in my anthropomorphizing mind, work as crossing guards, herding everyone into lines, keeping things orderly. They were noisy and beautiful and I was completely irrelevant–perfect. I rode through and around the silent town, outrunning dogs, studying cypress in the bayou, wondering if that was a cotton gin, and then headed home to a hot shower, an extra soft, extra large sweater, and some footbal. Like I said, perfect.