Broken Promises

I promised so much, and what do I do? I fail you, that's what. "It'll be crazy" I said. "You just wait" I said. But May 16th came, and went, and all I offer is one measly post in nearly a whole month. What's worse, I deceived. The previous post implied I had been on The Bus, in the rain, with the blossom. Alas, a lie. It was written from fast fading memories of earlier days.
The truth? I haven't spent time with my muse for weeks now. And what good is a bus blog without a bus? No good, that's what.
But there is hope, though I dare not promise. There is a second chance, though I cannot ask for your trust. There are better days ahead, though I turn to look back.
Time will tell.

On Choice.

I glance at my fellow passengers set against a backdrop of pink blossom as we wait at a stop for new journeyers to alight. The young and the old, the rough and the smooth, unwittingly haloed by this cerise turn of spring that fills every window on that side of the bus. They can choose how to look, I think to myself, but not how they’ll be seen.

In the rain I watch water droplets chase each other down the glass, zigzagging around microscopic obstacles. They refuse to take the path that seems the most obvious to me, subject instead to unseen forces, as invisible as those that nudge the lives of the pedestrians that shuffle around outside in a blur, out of focus beyond my immediate gaze. They, like me, can choose where to go, but not all of how they’ll get there. They can choose their destination, but not every path they will take.

We are wise to be humbled by those unseen forces that shape our journey and might, even without us knowing, find us momentarily silhouetted against a curtain of pink blossom.

Sadness

I am sad, because I am enjoying some wonderful bus riding, but I'm too busy to post about them. I'll be too busy until May 16th, after that it'll be crazy, you just wait.
In the mean time, if you're suffering from withdrawal, why not browse through some back posts?