Greyhound Bus

Every time I see the Greyhound bus pass through our local bus depot, I have this wild urge to fling caution and convention to the wind, run up those few short steps, and settle into a seat. I almost don't care where the Greyhound is going, I just want to get on board. Sometimes, when I know that bus would carry me to Portland, it's all I can do to keep my legs marching forward. I think heaven might be a knapsack packed with a few bare essentials, a journal, a good book or two, and a bus/amtrak ticket. I could tour the countryside, have conversations with a hundred random strangers, drink a thousand cups of coffee, each brewed by different hands, and wake to a sunrise on a different horizon every morning.

I love my little town. Really, I do. Still, this strange, sweet longing stirs within me every time I pass a Greyhound bus.