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Catching the Bus
January 9, 2015
the first snowfall
frosts in the morning air;
it bites my nose
and pricks my fingers
as the sky fades
back to blue and gray.
the first snowfall
is sprinkled over the againg dawn;
it crystallizes the silent light
and freezes my wet hair
as a pair of hopeful lights
come to a stop at my side
the first snowfall
flashes by me in the countryside;
it taps on the window
and breathes a frosted breath on my eyes
as I sink deeper into my seat,
which introduces me to the new day.
© Barbara S., Hoffman Estates, IL
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You're more greatful for the bus when it picks you up just before you are about to freeze to death.