We were the first to get on the bus and very close to the last to get off. In the late afternoon, I would ride down dusty roads, with windows down looking out onto pastures of clay like cows being squeezed out of view. My legs would stick to those green leather seats. My fingers would run over the duck tape that patched rips or cuts made by older students with pocket knives. My eyes bounced over markered names written on seat backs. It could be lulling in those last thirsty minutes as the final kids slowly clomped down steps towards driveways to ranch houses.
When I got off, I would make the walk down our long driveway. There were familiar puddle holes to dodge or jump in or slide over when icy. I remember that walk being the polishing thoughts, reflecting on the day of friends, puppy loves, or curiosities. Daisy our Springer Spaniel was sure to greet me and chaperone me the rest of the way home.
Through the gate, there might be irises or sweet gum balls to be found. On past the porch and through the door. My mom would be found daily at her easel in the laundry room. I would stand over her shoulder and recount the highlights of the day, watching her scrip line tree branches or duck feathers dipping her brush onto a palette placed on the dryer.
When I got off, I would make the walk down our long driveway. There were familiar puddle holes to dodge or jump in or slide over when icy. I remember that walk being the polishing thoughts, reflecting on the day of friends, puppy loves, or curiosities. Daisy our Springer Spaniel was sure to greet me and chaperone me the rest of the way home.
Through the gate, there might be irises or sweet gum balls to be found. On past the porch and through the door. My mom would be found daily at her easel in the laundry room. I would stand over her shoulder and recount the highlights of the day, watching her scrip line tree branches or duck feathers dipping her brush onto a palette placed on the dryer.
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