An Allegorical Ride

May 28, 2011

Riding south east from home on a route I know well and yet every time is new, I see across the field of green wheat about two foot high already, a massive brooding cloud hanging over what I estimate to be Molalla. I am riding in clear sunshine; a spring breeze out of the south west is caressing my right, and when the road swings sharp right becomes my motive assistant.

But at every turn of the pedal I wonder, is the storm coming closer, or is it moving to the east, or is it trapped over Molalla? It’s not that I am really afraid to get wet. It’s not that I am not used to riding in the rain. It’s not that I am unprepared. I do have a jacket and shoe covers on. But there is something more ominous about the scene that is upsetting me, and search as I might in my mind I cannot find the root of the anxiety. I get to the turning point I had planned and the sun still shines and the dark mass continues to hang to the south; curtains of rain dropping down from its edges.

Reversing my tracks I am faced with the breeze that once was my friend now become an adversary. I don’t mind. I have turned my back on the blackness and now my sight is filled with blue and white, and what might be distant storms nowhere close to me.

Oh good grief, is this an allegorical ride? I begin to ask in a cynical way.

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