Tiny Moments #169

It is inevitable that on my rides these days my memory slips back to the heady, carefree and quiet Early Days Of Lockdown.  Riding away from the industrial heartland of Hele that straddles the M5 motorway, I pass the wrought iron gates of the Devon Milling Company and reach the fields where, back in what feels like a parallel universe, I once spied a tractor raising clouds of red dust that threatened to suffocate the sky. Today the same field is a mesh of green corn grown as high as my head. The unbending onward march of time and nature slaps my face and hammers home my profound insignificance.

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