Blow, blow though winter wind . . .

There are days when I close my eyes. Close my eyes and just sit. Tired. No sighing, no thinking, no trying, no formulating, no strategizing, no analyzing. No worrying, no fretting, no stressing. No wondering, no planning, no designing, no yearning. No wishing, no questioning, no waiting.

Just listening.

Listening to winds blow all around me. Cold wet wind lashing at my back and face. Quiet and empty is the land around me. Loud and aggressive is the wind. It is steady. It bites, cutting thru my layers, my sweatshirt, my tee shirts and my undershirt.

It howls - it moans, on and on it comes. I am so remote on this beautiful lonely ridge. Far away from everyone. I can look out and see two valleys. I can look out and see patches of orcahard and of grazing land.

I can hear the wind. My steady companion on this ride. Flinging sand in my face and dust in my mouth. Cold and relentless it makes me - it will fail - I will conquer this ridge. I will ride till I can ride no more. When I can ride no more I will walk, slowly - purposefully into the wind.

I will not be turned back. Today - today I will climb, downshifting, grunting - ever on - ever up.

I will ride.

I will not turn back.

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