A tour of urbanity with a bus full of strangers. Stone, glass, and steel rise into the blue sky. Standstill traffic dribbles out of the tunnel below.

Friday afternoon rush hour.

Traffic is a nuisance, but it cannot dampen a perfect autumn day. The sun leans low into the sky, bathing thousands of years of human progress in its vital rays. Light bounces off tempered glass into the eyes of all of us onboard.

Few words are exchanged, yet we all share time and space.

Despite different hair textures and headwear, clothing of different material and thread count; different companies’ laptops connected to hotspots from different wireless carriers; different purposes and plans, different origins and destinations; here we are in a shared moment, a shared space, a shared route. And a shared driver with whom we entrust our shared mortality.

Unique in so many ways, yet common in so many more. The beauty of the moment.

We are bathed in gold. I wonder if my traveling companions are aware of this beauty. I am no different from the other passengers in that my hands hold two devices and headphones plug both ears. But the sun is setting this bus on fire.

A deep, passionate orange ignites human hair in front of me. The sun strikes from a new angle as we navigate the bending road. The golden hour is at its peak intensity.

The woman seated next to me is absolutely present. No device or distractions, just a steady gaze out the window, hands folded in her lap. It’s admirable. Maybe I should do the same. Because now, my head and stomach are getting a little woozy.

⧟

The Sands of Time

Friday, November 5th, 2021

A tour of urbanity with a bus full of strangers. Stone, glass, and steel rise into the blue sky. Standstill traffic dribbles out of the tunnel below.

Friday afternoon rush hour.

Traffic is a nuisance, but it cannot dampen a perfect autumn day. The sun leans low into the sky, bathing thousands of years of human progress in its vital rays. Light bounces off tempered glass into the eyes of all of us onboard.

Few words are exchanged, yet we all share time and space.

Despite different hair textures and headwear, clothing of different material and thread count; different companies’ laptops connected to hotspots from different wireless carriers; different purposes and plans, different origins and destinations; here we are in a shared moment, a shared space, a shared route. And a shared driver with whom we entrust our shared mortality.

Unique in so many ways, yet common in so many more. The beauty of the moment.

We are bathed in gold. I wonder if my traveling companions are aware of this beauty. I am no different from the other passengers in that my hands hold two devices and headphones plug both ears. But the sun is setting this bus on fire.

A deep, passionate orange ignites human hair in front of me. The sun strikes from a new angle as we navigate the bending road. The golden hour is at its peak intensity.

The woman seated next to me is absolutely present. No device or distractions, just a steady gaze out the window, hands folded in her lap. It’s admirable. Maybe I should do the same. Because now, my head and stomach are getting a little woozy.

⧟

The Sands of Time

Friday, November 5th, 2021