Got chased by tractors. Barked at by dogs. Waved at by farmers during kilometres of back road biking and gulping in the beauty and freedom and SPACE. Avoided riding through the puddles (mostly) and came home so tired, but oh so content. New favourite place to escape to, as much as I'm fond of our city.

Hills, real hills- did you grow up in them? Did you ever forget the comfort of not seeing more than a few bends ahead, and then suddenly a whole valley dropping at your feet? Did you round a bend to be surprised by a wayside crucifix with small candles still burning? I spoke out loud before I thought about it- "He's not *dead*! He's not dead anymore, y'all, He's *alive*!" Do you think Jesus objects to tiny quiet places in a northern countryside, to small quiet corners where He's remembered with devotion and delicate purple flowered vines? I think He'd like it. But remember why we remember Him! "Why do you look for Him among the dead? He is not here, HE IS ALIVE!" as the angel said on Easter.