Bus Rides

3 Jan

Though I never really totally dread the bus ride back from the capitol to our city here in Az, I certainly don’t look forward to the 4 – 5 hour bus ride with dewy-eyed love and affection. Sometimes fun things happen, like the time Matt went to grab his bag only to find three chickens sitting on top. Or the time I sat next to a sweet old xanim who gave me sweets and later fell asleep and drooled on my shoulder. Or, the time the woman sitting across from Matt opened her shaken soda and to prevent it from spilling over herself leaned over to douse Matt in sticky, tangy Fanta. Or the afternoon our bus just pulled over to the side of the road and waited for two hours. No mechanical problems, no cows or sheep or dogs blocking the way – we just waited and after a few packs of cigs smoked by our driver and two guys popped on board we were off.

Point is, as much as these bus rides are totally and in all other ways often inconceivable, there’s something about the 4-5 hours it gives me to stare out the window and gaze and think that I am wholly glad for.  It could be the fumes or the heat talking, but I will forever happily associate my time passing through the country with thoughts of future plans and images of tall, leafless trees and shepherds on horseback in the distance and families gathered to send loved ones off on the side of the road for whatever journey they might have ahead. Some moments I feel a sad, melancholy pang for all those things that are not and are somewhere else. Other times, I’m playing the best pump-it-up-and-be-awesome playlist through my head while flying past fields and streams and creating a million possibilities for tomorrow’s project and next years big adventure and everything and anything seems within arm’s reach.

At any rate, today I am glad for these buses filled with thoughts and opportunities. And, of course, the occasionally poultry.

The morning glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. – Walt Whitman
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