Crisp Weeds to Pink Wigs Intercede a Gloomy Scape

The morning is cool to cold. Brisk, crisp, chilly and biting to the ears and tip of the nose it is. A bit of a shock. My walk to the morning stop reveals two large weeds growing tall. I grasp them to pull out of the ground but they have spines on their stems. I pull it out anyway then continue onto the marker. The prickly stem bites into my palm. I feel my face wince a little as the root ball comes out of the ground. I drop it to collect on my way back hours from now and dust off my hands then proceed onward. To look around the morning is dim and cloudy. Distant cars from the highway make themselves known from their tire treads whipping against the interstate's surface. I can hear my shoe treads do the same thing, except in miniature and in harmonic fashion.

As I approach, the bus already is hurrying to the same point. Only G is there poised to embark. In haste I trot to the open doors and barely make it. Someone is sitting in G's spot, so he turns to sit across from there. However when he sees me he changes his mind and sits all the way in the back. I in turn just choose the seat he deferred from for whatever reason. It just seemed like the natural thing to do, not really sure why at this point.

I prop my knees up on the barrier in front of me to suspend the feet in the air. Looking out the window only informs silhouetted trees, blackish-blue bushes and the occasional gloomy landscape. More of the same happens as time progresses. Commuters step up, take their seats, unzip their bag, pull out a paperback, then start reading. No one talks. A few sleep. Some listen to music.

When I arrive downtown to walk to catch another bus I see a gray-bearded man ride a yellow Harley onto the sidewalk. He is wearing a pink helmet with a pink wig adhered to its outside surface. It doesn't sink in, meaning the reason for why into my stupid little brain. Next thing I know there are all these people crossing the street. A whole horde of pink-attired (yes some with pink wigs) traversing north along 1st Avenue. Then it dawns on me. It's the Breast Cancer Walk of course. So many people so early in the morning gathered around the stadium. The Seattle Police are out in force stopping traffic to supersede the traffic lights to allow the flow of pedestrians to continue their march. They are motorcycle cops mostly that keep their helmets affixed to their heads.

Finally I enter the last bus. The driver is stopped by those very police as the marchers file by. Then rather unexpectedly the bus lurches forward through the intersection and the scene folds back into memory. Now the mind must turn toward the work that must be done, as it does over and over.