Can you believe, it’s colder on the bus than outside. I was looking forward to the warmth. I’m just thankful I have on my trusty boots and blue coat. Otherwise I’d be shivering all the way to town.
Two people are sleeping, one her head propped against a cold windowpane, the other lolling forward. She’s going to have a sore neck!
It rained last night. I remember waking and hearing its soft patter. This morning the grass is wet and the roads are slick and shining. My garden will be extremely happy. In my mind’s eye, leaves stand at attention, fibrous roots wriggling in ecstasy, branches arched, all drinking in this sweet nectar of the gods.
It’s a quite old day on the roads today. School holidays a soothing balm to the car driving commuters. Time enough for a coffee on the way, or even a cheeky breakfast.
I’ve come without a brolly. . . If it’s raining in the city, I’ll be doing the side-step shuffle to keep my newly washed locks dry.
We turn a corner past an old fashioned Queenslander, it’s occupants all sleeping it seems. Wish I were still snuggled under the covers dreaming of dancing dahlias.
It’s looking pretty bleak outside. Low grey clouds hang heavy and the homes are shrouded in fog. The birds are in hiding. Usually they sit atop telegraph wires their silhouette like cardboard cut outs. Today, the wires are bird-free.
The houses give way to businesses. Beautiful old buildings with sculptured panels nestled between bright square monstrosities. Then the bus descends into a tunnel and for a while, it’s just slabs of cement whizzing past outside.
When it emerges, we glimpse early morning joggers and gym junkies. Lycra clad and active wear bodies abound. Bit too chilly for pecs to be on display, but there are muscles aplenty, all gearing up for the hard grind of the day. And talking about grind reminds me of my soon to be mid morning mocha.
A bright spot on a work day. When I’d rather be picking dahlias.
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