Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte

Writing 101, Day Sixteen: Serial Killer III – Lost/Found on a Greyhound Bus

on June 23, 2014

Before Amtrak and speeding views of the passing countryside,
Before planes with views of sky and clouds, if you had a window seat,
Before SUV’s and RV’s with indoor plumbing,
There was the ubiquitous Greyhound Bus. People rode the bus.

Folks packed a lunch, stuff to read or word puzzles to while away the time (before Nintendo or iPods).
Some slept or slept it off after a night of partying.
Some shed covert tears at the death of a loved one, a marriage over.
Some were homesick already at leaving home for the first time.

The bus becomes a stage for great and small dramas of human life.
Things lost are remembered. Haunting dreams of things longed for fill minds and aching hearts.
Things found revive tired, empty people with possibilities.
Things like a new job, a fiancé and a diamond ring, a vacation revealing new vistas promise hope.

I am the cosmic repository for things lost and things found.
I hold close all lost things – treasures of memory that warm us at night. Building blocks of tomorrow.
I open my hands. Things found will fly into a world waiting for surprise and be transformed.
“To make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.” – T.S. Eliot

2 responses to “Writing 101, Day Sixteen: Serial Killer III – Lost/Found on a Greyhound Bus

  1. Ah! The long interstate bus rides. Very much what you described. Your post takes me back. Thanks!

  2. vivachange77 says:

    You, too? Thanks.

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