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Bus Story: A Timeless Tune

March 18, 2013

The song is sung. Monday arrives and our carriage gathers us up and moves us along, like a great galloping beast. Because of the crowd, I can’t see him, but I can hear his voice through the noise of the road and the murmur of the other riders. It’s a rumbling sort of tune, guttural and earthen. It’s the voice of a mountain or a glacier; compelling and ancient. He is singing quietly, almost to himself, but the music carries inexorably through the bunched throng. The rhythm catches us, whether we know it or not, and we whirl and bend and stamp our feet to the thrump and lilt of each stanza. And when the time comes, the music will stop and we will move along to our next ride, our next impromptu concert. And the song will be sung.

For Betty

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From → Bus Stories

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