Bustling Bus Ride

Click, clack. Click clack.

The ever moving silence of 32 people.

Jumbling, bumbling, trying to keep

Still,

32 people rise and fall in motion.

Click, clack. Click, clack.

Whispers lay low,

Leaning on one another.

40 miles seems to pass by,

Quickly,

A greater silence looming

Over presence.

Hushed are the tones of the silent lambs,

A dreary morning with dust in the air,

The sustenance of life brought to the ground,

Enshrouding the sky with gray.

Click, clack. Click, clack.