Otherwise

[image error]We bike seven and a half miles up the road from our house, past rolling fields and silent, collapsing barns.  It is my favorite route from home, a long, lovely panorama of wild gardens,  moss-covered stone walls, old country houses set low to the ground, rolling fields and sun-dappled woods.  The morning air is patchy, stunningly hot in the clear stretches, deliciously cool in the greeny darkness of shade, the trees arching over the road like a canopy as we sail along beneath, single file...