tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546274156416978505.post5765044506930335505..comments2023-03-27T08:24:14.231-04:00Comments on cycles: gustsstevenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14132104804524716898noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546274156416978505.post-1196650043218868152010-11-20T18:52:37.239-05:002010-11-20T18:52:37.239-05:00well lorenzo!! thankyou for the beautiful extensio...well lorenzo!! thankyou for the beautiful extension on the piece here . . . . an entire world of poets - the spanish writers - is opening up through you. i am sure that many people like myself are so deeply grateful for the names and the words. i for my part will continue to express the openings that take place through the simple act of riding. a metaphor with rich depths i'm barely plumbing!!! stevenstevenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14132104804524716898noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6546274156416978505.post-63239495055481797042010-11-20T14:50:48.578-05:002010-11-20T14:50:48.578-05:00I somehow feel that have been waiting for this pos...I somehow feel that have been waiting for this post for some time now and now can only say thank you. The wind is a constant of my bike rides, and in the winter, it tends to be a blustery, gusty, meanhearted wind. Yet I try to ride on, through it, with it, in spite of it. Alternately cursing it when it blows against me and forgetting to be grateful or even acknowledge its presence when I have it at my back.<br /><br />The great Spanish writer Antonio Machado, writing under the heteronym Juan de Mairena, once observed that a bird cursing the resistance of the air, is really cursing the very thing that makes flight possible. So too, perhaps, the wind and life.Lorenzo — Alchemist's Pillowhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07522265816460154722noreply@blogger.com