He had been away.
Many days, many pushes of the pedals that carried him, his bike and his thoughts to a distant city.
Where he rested.
Himself, his bikes and his thoughts.
When he returned, he found home to be a foreign land.
Full of surprise and wonder.
Four deer standing in the mist on a turn of the track, where none had been before.
Pine saplings festooned in cobwebs as if it were Christmas, though in fact the back door of winter had been passed and he stood now beneath the threshold of Summer.
Trees that had been empty three weeks ago, were now emphatically green.
An old woodpecker drilled on a new trunk, or perhaps a new woodpecker on an old trunk.
Mounds of logs rearing in silent vigil, witnesses to the destruction of the wood men who had passed their way.
New tracks through the forest, new vistas.
Islands of trees rising from the damp mists, masts of imagined ships steady on the early morning ocean.
Wild orchids watched as he strode through the trees still standing until he arrived at the stones set on the summit thousands of years before, but seen anew for the first time.
He stood and watched two cars go past, in opposite directions. Then, he turned and walked on.
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