On the Bus Ride Home
Sometimes things I see in DC "leap off the canvas" and I have to write them down.
This is what I saw on my bus ride out of DC yesterday:
The Potomac River in a cloudy dusk looking like silver cellophane stretched over black water. The river was lined with orange and yellow trees. The Gothic spires of Georgetown in the distance.
I look up and there's a fat passenger plane muscling its way through a downward path over the bridge to the airport.
At the end of the bridge I look down — two dark raggedy forms have spread out blankets on the slanted stone expanse beneath the overpass, their worldly belongings heaped neatly around them, they lie next to each other propped on elbow, in conversation. Probably loving the view of the river.
Pulling in to Rosslyn, the streets are full of congestion, huge busses criss-crossing diagonally across 2 or three lanes, (the one on the left aiming for the far right lane; the one on the right aiming for the far left lane - I am in this bus) and trapped little cars in pockets between them hoping not to be smooshed; all of this of course in the middle of an intersection where the light has already changed, but no one is moving.This is what I saw on my bus ride out of DC yesterday:
The Potomac River in a cloudy dusk looking like silver cellophane stretched over black water. The river was lined with orange and yellow trees. The Gothic spires of Georgetown in the distance.
I look up and there's a fat passenger plane muscling its way through a downward path over the bridge to the airport.
At the end of the bridge I look down — two dark raggedy forms have spread out blankets on the slanted stone expanse beneath the overpass, their worldly belongings heaped neatly around them, they lie next to each other propped on elbow, in conversation. Probably loving the view of the river.
I watch with amusement and notice the disarray of buildings under construction lining the street. A glowing, two-globe, turn-of-the-century-design street lamp leans 30 degrees to the right, propped up by a makeshift, very tall Y made of wood. What construction worker ran over that? I wonder.
Making it through, I see a verticle row of red lights flashing on the back of a bicycle helmet as the rider pumps slowly into the twilight away from congested Rosslyn into the stone and green shelter of the Washington & Old Dominion bike trail. It's a grueling uphill trek, but I bet he's glad to be on it, this Thanksgiving Eve eve, in the balmy 60 degree air, his work day done.
Me too. I'm on my way home.
Copyright (c) 2007
SO beautiful. You are truly a gift to life.
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