An ice queen no more,
Bathing beauty’s more her style.
Patiently she waits.
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.