Sprawled as much as one can along the row of not so cozy seats
that stretch across the rear of the bus,
I gaze through smoky coloured windows as the countryside streaks past
and wonder if anyone out there is awake yet.
My body craves a fix of nicotine as pink bathes the horizon
heralding the dawn and with it,
somewhere I’m sure,
a chorus sung by feathered creatures.
Clusters of saplings spread leafy arms
as if yawning and elder dark clad trees
stand to attention as if saluting
the chilly, hazy morning.
Another day begins.