Seeing Purple

If the red of poppy fields marked early summer in the south of France, and the yellow masses of sunflowers marked the hot and hazy days of August, then it is purple that marks the close. Purple grape juice soaks the roads through the vineyards, making them too trechorous to ride on. The vines that are still waiting to be harvested are heavy with purple grapes. A variety of purple plants that I can't name are in bloom around town. There is a wild grass growing out in the fields that has tinted purple tips in certain lights.

It's just two short weeks till Ironman now, and as the decline in my training volume opens up more hours to be idle, I have been going for walks with my camera to capture the different shades of purple before they pass:

So how do I feel as the big day draws near? It changes by the moment. I feel exicted, I feel anxious, I feel a little indifferent at times. I have a need to be reclused. Other than taking myself on rambling walks with my camera, I have been visiting the cathedral to sit in the silence that is left in the wake of the summer tourists, staying home to cook elaborate vegan meals for one while listening to endless Tracy Chapman, writing out french verb conjugations in cafes inbetween people-watching, dragging my mountain bike out to roll along the country lanes on days that I am not supposed to be training but am missing the sights and smells of the countryside terribly. As the race draws near, I have less desire to be social, and that includes blogging. I've never thought of it as a social venue in my life before - I thought I was just keeping an online diary of sorts - but I suppose it has come to be that to me. So if my desire to write and share myself continues to wane, there might not be much news from me until after d-day on October 4th.

And with that, I am going back to mywithdrawn state.