Cycling on the Blue Ridge Parkway in the Fog

Climbing through the flowing fog, I enter the rim where muscles strain to maintain the perceptual force that drives my motives. Thoughts reach beyond the context of comfort and I open to the diverseness of the landscape. Mist condenses into tiny droplets that meander downward across exposed skin leaving legs and arms veined with channels of water that drop aimlessly to the ground. The forest is silent but I feel its presence through voices not yet understood. A double yellow line marks my way and I follow it into my limited visual world.My body expresses an element of fatigue, but I dare not yield less I fail to grasp the true meaning that drives me upward. I am content to momentarily reside within the limitation of my world knowing that the cues that are transmitted to me through my efforts insure that progress is measured in quality of meaning rather that movement through time. I round the last turn and the gradient lessens, a moment of joy and happiness is replaced by sadness as I increase my cadence and move swiftly onward. Joy and happiness is tempered with contentment, but the struggle to reach beyond the search yields conflicting thoughts that provides resources change. Just maybe through the struggle I can feel the purity of the mountain.