I remember the vibration. There were seats by big windows and people running by on the street. Light flickered against my short legs, adorned distally with small brown-leather shoes. When I compared my shoes to the vastness of the city, and the tall man with a seersucker shirt, I knew that I was small.
In this joyous light of youth the world zoomed by; people in bright cars, families walking by ice cream stores, bike stores and places to buy clothes. Looking out as wide-eyed idle observers, it flashed by in the white-spring aura of smile and freckle and warmth.
Each year the journey was the same, with familiar faces and road, but vision became less interested in the play. Slowly our necks would bend to news and book, forgoing the brilliant land passing before our ear plane neglect. But yet, there was the same vibration of engine, warming our bodies with something familiar.
There were days when warmth would rise through us as we dreamt, and days the rains of discontent would splash against our filthy window. Some days smelled of fuel and carbon and toil, some days the lilac sweep of spring would caress our breathing nose. But yet, there was the same vibration.
And as the years passed, and our flesh slowly receded from its earth strength leverage, we reverted to our youthful gaze and looked out the window to the street. Now the joy of a bird or distorted shadow was not taken as a direct passage to glee, but transformed to dream of days when the sun was bright, and joy bubbled from within. But yet, there was the same vibration.
And as the dusk bent light into the amber corners of that which lives in us, this vibrant form would slowly disperse, replaced by the velvet-lined purple of peace. No longer was a vessel required to take us to our destination and, as we slowly descended from our ride, the vessel departed, vibrating to the next stop. And as we stood slack-jawed, upset with the uncaring departure of this unstoppable vessel, we refrained knowing that we need not worry about walking.
Bus departing New York 1955
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