Across the scrub dunes I spy a large white bird.
Poised in the low water, it is stark amid the budding red brush,
A spiritual figure, postcard worthy in the intermittent sun.
The air around us is quiet, save for the small robins
Giving out little ricochet calls across the clearing.
That, and the wind making the stubby pines rattle.
In a moment of childlike excitement I wonder:
How does one tell cranes from herons again?
And what about egrets?
I wish I had my book of European birds with me…
As the final thoughts click into place
My thick, agile wheel hits the sidewall of the single track
While I, and bird along with me,
Take flight into the scrub dunes.

****

Bird watching and mountain biking are a futile pair. Luckily I wiped out on the incline side of the embankment, so it was a short fall into the scrub.

Shoutout to Bike and Trail in Limburg for renting me an excellent and forgiving mountain bike.