Winter’ s worn out welcome

Tonight I took a ‘double long’ bus from my job in the city to the icy parking lot where I left my car this morning.

The eighty people on the bus were silent. Most were dozing. A few be-speckled silver haired men in suits read their emails.

Watching snowflakes dance outside my drafty window, I soon surrendered to the dark as well.

A half hour later, nearing our stop, a cell phone played Vivaldi’s “Winter” for our wake up call. Eyes were rubbed. Yawns were heard. Wool caps and parkas slowly raised like batons.

Weary riders in a storm.

Or just weary of their winter.

I’m going with the latter.