Early morning. The sun isn’t up yet. I quietly get out of bed.
I get dressed in the dark, trying not to step where I know the floor will squeak. Don’t wake the husband, don’t wake the child.
Downstairs, lace up the shoes, fill up the water bottle and escape out the back door.
On the bike, on the trail, camera packed carefully in the rear pouch.
I’m on an adventure.
Cross the river into the city. The sun is rising, and I’m pedaling, pedaling. First sunrise ride of the year is always hard. Muscles stretching and working after a long winter inside, dormant.
And then I arrive. Good morning, beautiful world.
The cherry blossoms are at their peak. Soft pinks.
And crisp whites.
And people, so many people, even at sunrise. I have to get off my bike and walk it through.
I love that so many people come to see our cherry blossoms each spring. But I think I’ll wait until they’re gone before I venture out on another sunrise bike ride. The ride may not be as spectacular without the flowers, but I prefer the early morning solitude that returns when the blossoms — and crowds — have disappeared again until next spring.