Mountainbiking in Scotland

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There are no words
Doing justice to mountains wearing an ice crystal tiara, once the sun hits after a snow shower.
The layered papercut of hills stretches seemingly endless into the horizon
Spring growth is slowly changing the landscape
Still predominantly browns–you would think it’s boring
But the dramatic light as clouds chase the sun

Or is sun chasing the clouds?

Takes your breath anyway.
Hidden emerald jewels made of small ponds
Are dotted across the broken skin of the ancient hills.
Thousands of birds, a deer looks at us curiously, red squirrels dash across paths,
And I almost have an air traffic accident with a robin–we are both racing downhill.
It smells of summer in waiting.
Of bark and rain.
As soon as the sun breaks through the clouds my cold fingers warm up.
Rough ground crunches underneath my tires.
The tick green of pines darkens the path.
Only sunrays manage to break through,
Dousing us in green light.
The scent becomes heavy with acidic soil.
And still there are no words to describe the scenery adequately

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