Bus dust

We waited for the bus that took us to the far off coconut trees in blue.Uncle would come with his elbows on the open bus windows, his hair aloft on the speedy wind of the bus. On the front seat he seemed boss. Uncle was boss with all possibilities.

Beyond the green of coconut trees were hills that held possibilities of bears descending nightly to eat sugar cane crop ripe for harvesting. Bears loved sugarcane in the plains.But farmers sleeping under a new moon did not love bears in thin moonlight.

Bus shelter stood with holes of eyes open to a sky that held possibilities of rows of stars on moonless nights. The shelter did not care for bus dust coming from the horizon on a wind. Right , the bus conductor would say glamorously, his leather square bag hanging loosely with ticket moneys.


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