Red Kite Prayer
There’s something almost sacred about the way a red kite cuts through the sky. As I stood at the edge of the meadow, watching it circle above, I couldn’t help but reflect on how life mirrors those wide, effortless arcs. The red kite, once nearly vanished from our skies, returned not with fury but with grace—reminding us that resilience often takes the shape of quiet persistence rather than force.
This morning’s ride was supposed to be quick, just a simple loop to clear the mind. But like so many rides before it, the rhythm of the pedals opened up space for thoughts to breathe. It became a prayer in motion, a meditative churn of rubber on gravel, breath syncing with the rising sun. I thought of losses and recoveries, of old friends and fresh roads, of the quiet way we heal through movement.
Red Kite Prayer has never been about speed or gear or competition. It’s about reverence. Reverence for the suffering, the effort, and the beauty that cycling brings. It’s about what we leave behind on the road—and what we carry home in our hearts.This morning’s ride was supposed to be quick, just a simple loop to clear the mind. But like so many rides before it, the rhythm of the pedals opened up space for thoughts to breathe. It became a prayer in motion, a meditative churn of rubber on gravel, breath syncing with the rising sun. I thought of losses and recoveries, of old friends and fresh roads, of the quiet way we heal through movement.
Contrary to popular belief
So today, as the wind whispered through the grass and the kite vanished into a bank of clouds, I whispered a thank-you to the morning, to the ride, and to the long red thread that connects us all when we’re in the saddle.when looking at its layout.
This morning’s ride was supposed to be quick, just a simple loop to clear the mind. But like so many rides before it, the rhythm of the pedals opened up space for thoughts to breathe. It became a prayer in motion, a meditative churn of rubber on gravel, breath syncing with the rising sun. I thought of losses and recoveries, of old friends and fresh roads, of the quiet way we heal through movement.
