aeryn

When I was little I had a forty minute bus ride to school. In the fall, I would pass the time each day counting pumpkins on the houses' porches we passed. The number of bright orange flashes that we passed grew along with my excitement as we approached Halloween. Then suddenly they would be gone, and Id start to count wreaths on doors, until after Christmas break, they, too, would be gone, leaving only days to count and ice to melt until summer.

But amid all the counting, what I did a lot of was leaning my head against the cool glass as we bumped along, closing my eyes, and seeing the flashes of light through the trees on the backs of my eyelids. A warm red flash followed by cool black, then back to red, erratic as the world raced by and changed through the seasons. I could see outlines of trees, like a negative illuminated on the backs of my eyelids. I would watch this parade of light and dark for awhile then try to guess exactly where I was, opening my eyes to see if I was right. I had a great sense of direction and this just honed my feelings for the passing of distance and time.

Yesterday, if I could, I would have taken a long bus ride. I wanted to close my eyes and feel the smooth glass against my face as images flitted through my mind. I wanted to be soothed by my daughter triumphantly riding her bike without training wheels; small white clouds scudding across the bright blue sky as I ran through my neighborhood; a friends voice and laughter filling my head. I wanted to just watch how the hot red flashes of anger and pain seared around those images, contrasting with them and giving them form. I wanted to sit back and ride for awhile. I dont have need of my old game of guessing my place, because even before I open my eyes, I know where I am. And I still have a great sense of direction.