On Thursday, I rode over the Prince of Wales bridge, to look around the eastern part of Wales (around Cardiff).
It rained.
It shined.
It rained.
It shined.
It was perfect.
And, on the way back, I was dazzled by rainbows.
I counted seven on that drive, but could only angle a photograph of one.
They were to the right and left, behind and in front. Each majestic, different and elusive.
I stared around in wonder as they appeared and reappeared.
So happy I wasn’t driving.
Last time I saw that many rainbows I was with my parents at a pub off Galway Bay in Ireland.
It was our routine to stopped in Galway for a few days, before heading up to Inishowen to stay with the family.
It was around 9pm, and still light enough outside to read a book.
There we were, next to a large window that looked out over the bay, talking about the day and listening to the musicians play in the other room, when rainbows appears out on the silver-white water. It was truly a Lady-of-the-Lake, Kermit-the-Frog magical moment.
We felt blessed.
To be fair, I believe everyone who saw those rainbows that day WAS blessed.
What a treat to see them abound again in Wales.
Ah, rainbows.
What a gift.
As I always say: Never trust a person who isn’t moved by a rainbow.
Happy Sunday.
And a very big welcome to 2023.