And Woolly Mammoths Cross Over the Vision

23-March-2011 06:27

The night is dark as pitch this morning, such as is the case these days. I load myself onto the bus still weary and worn from the most recent encounter with sleep the night before. When I sit, I prop my knees up on the seat back in front of me so as to let my feet dangle in mid-air. No pressure, no strain exists on them except perhaps from the weight of the shoe pulled toward the center of the Earth.
After a few moments a smattering of people arrive and sit themselves in various arrangements, not a one matching my nonchalant slack. My own vision is obscured by a pink scalp that can be discerned under a bed of longish stark white hair that contains blond ends. He seats himself with one half his jacket behind him and the other draped fractionally over the opposing shoulder. No such movement from him exisits other than the bus's vibratory rattle.
I turn from this curious scene to look out the bus's front window and see Mount Rainier rising out of the horizon like some kind of up close and personal woolly mammoth. I stare at it, recognizing it does indeed convey the sense of having a "purple majesty." This "inactive volcano's immense sight serves to ease my mind and still my thoughts, thusly rendering an end to this scribbling of the pen, quite abruptly...