The History Bus

This time, I'm inside this weird ancient bus. Robin, the driver, is at the controls; like always, dressed in his immaculate suit, he has the time of departure confirmed to him from ole weepy eyed.

Then he rises majestically - one measured step at a time on the wooden board from the passenger side then up to the driver's seat.

Yes, it’s the lovely blue bus again (on the outside). On the inside above the windshield, as it should seem after all these desperate years, the mast is burnished battered steel - wires dangle from above and the flaps hang loose.

Robin sets the gears in motion. With a flourish, like in a movie, we begin our eternal journey.... only to find that he's set us moving in reverse. We sit enchanted staring right ahead; Robin steers us through the marvelous forests of light and shade.

Our history unfolds, bachsheena as they make us say - secret lovers revealed like hoary haloed saints on the precipice of the trees. Blue sheets of sky and showered light, twirling leaves as footfalls are heard - my sleeping childhood friends awake now as the history bus rides back through the forests of my time...
[21.12.2005]