I rode a bus in the desert and the woman beside me had plastic bags on her lap and must in her coat. My face turned toward the window taking it in––the pleasure of being a passenger, carried. It was a drought year. We passed the scar of a long-gone lake and then the gash of a former stream and she gave a little huff, rustling the bags. Yep, she said, me too. I was too tired to ask, so only nodded. Then I looked out the window again, wondering about the water before it was gone, the lives it must have held until it couldn’t anymore before it gave itself up, back to sky.
Just stunning, Stacey.
Craig, thank you for this.
Great piece – so much said about connections here, I feel.
Thank you, Chris. I think you are right about that although I hadn’t consciously thought about it in those terms. A friend of mine once observed that this was the primary theme of my writing and that surprised me, too. But it seems right.
I think, sometimes, that we underestimate how much our words can touch others and what they see in them.
Chris. Thank you so much.
🙂
Sitting on the bus …. your words took me there and to that jumping off point where the external world and the internal collide.
Dear Amaya, thank you for sharing this with me. : ) Hug.
That was poignant and beautiful writing. It makes you think and feel.
Thomas, thank you for this. Wishing you a beautiful weekend.