For the last two Fridays, I’ve written a little story while on my way to work. Sitting on the bus for about an hour is the perfect opportunity for bit of creative mindfulness. My sister, bless her cotton socks, now expects one every Friday. Hmmm. . . Not sure that that will eventuate, but here we go with week three.
I’m wearing boots, black tights and a sky-blue dress-top that probably should be worn by someone much younger than me. I love the look, just not quite sure I can pull it off.
Anyhow, I for once didn’t have to decide what outfit for the day because in a wakeful moment during the night, my brain had decided. It’s not ironed, but who’s to know? I’d notice of course, but my instincts tell me most humans are not that interested in the state of my attire. There are a few excessively interested, one particular person comes to mind. One who most definitely would be affronted by my lack of care.
In the kitchen the light blinked, yes yes, it needs attention. On my Google Nest, pics display, my
grandchildren being the main characters appearing in this rolling collage of my life. The photos make my lips turn to a smile, all the little snippets of the moments we’ve shared together. And sometimes a fleeting sadness hits my heart as I realise how much I miss them.
The usual morning activities done with judicious attention, most importantly food for the meowing Smudge. Not usually an early riser (like her mother) but if I’m up, she’s up and once awake demands cat pats and a tasty treat.
To the bus. It was darn cold and dark. Did I mention that I’m up with the sparrows? My usual fellow commuter is there already, waiting and rugged up like an Eskimo heading off for a sleigh ride. And, there was someone else. “Haven’t seen you for ages” she greets me and then proceeds to regale me with why she is in fact catching the bus today. I’m polite, of course I am, but the bus arrives and we board, me in my usual possie, early morn bus rides mean there’s no jostling for position. She’s usually a back of the bus type commuter, today however, she perches across the aisle from me. The regaling continues, I now know all the nuances, the what’s and wherefores. It is so tiring and my fingers are itching to tap away on the little keypad. Obviously, she stopped the chatter, or there would be no story.
I looked up and noticed the lightening of the sky, the washed-out blackness has turned clear, it’s blue-grey without a blemish. The city is looming, you know what that means don’t you? The story must end. Not completely, just for today.
My life holds so many stories. Big chunks of time, the momentous occasions, the laugh out loud and the heart wrenching. And the infinitesimal moments in time that make it all worthwhile.
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