In a gentle arc, the moon rose against a sandstone sky. Occasional flocks punctuated the skyline. Calling macaques screeched to family. Jasmine scented the air. A perfect night for riding through sleepy villages and along dusty trails. A perfect night for anything.
Most of that was true. There are no macaques of course. In Whitchurch we can offer a fox, a squirrel and the occasional dawdling cat, but struggle to offer the exotic. Yet yesterday evening, with the temperatures in the high 20s and a richly Amber vista, there could be no finer evening for gently spinning cranks and meandering without agenda. Our summer is way too brief. Embrace it with open panniers.
Image: Moonrise over Whitchurch (with art filter).