The whirling wind
By this young maiden.“
Meandering lone with my black backpack. The shadow of trees masks the road. Withal, the sun rays harmonize the beatitudes of nature.
In the waiting shade area where it was measured. The whistles of vehicles passing by. I, patiently abiding whilst imploring that a bus, when granted, shall wind up in frontal.
Hours after hours, diminished, opportunity has not yet come. Heavy sigh. The blow of a bus assimilates my ears. There’s a lingering bliss in my hollow muscular organ.
This is it! I throw my hand gesture and the yellow bus stops. Smoke hovers in the air and the door opens. My red skirt blew as I hastily barged in.
As I have my seat, taking heed from the dusty window, I mutter, “Nobody knows it is my first time.”
Indeed, it was. Who would know?
My mind is chuffed; My friends, what a day! It was my first time riding a bus! Thank God for this privilege! This is grace alone!
However, the bus starts to roll its wheels and leaves nothing, but only smoke and a stamp.
Road,lead the way. She’s ready for this trek.
O8-01-21,00
amisnil 