Dawn's Early Light

DAWN’S EARLY LIGHT

A slight skiff of snow had fallen overnight, just enough to dust the ground with a barely perceptible powder that glittered under the soft glow of the streetlights. For once there was no wind, and it was so peaceful that I felt like walking long and far to soak in the early morning ambience. This part of the day when the world wakes up from its slumber can be both restful and stimulating at the same time.

At 7:30 a.m. it was still dark when I covered the short distance to the bus stop. Usually there are the same three or four people waiting there. There is Sue, my Avon lady, who lives in the nearby condos that once used to be a park. Sue works in the accounting department of a trucking company, just minutes from home. Then there is Cheri, who is a 30-something lady, always dressed to kill. I honestly think she just works to clothe herself in trendy outfits that showcase her trim figure. Cheri is immersed in the downtown business world, complete with cell phone, laptop and lots of confidence oozing from every stylish pore. But my favourite is Brent. Brent is a young Philippine man with Down syndrome, but that does not deter him from any of life's challenges. Brent can converse fairly well, and holds a job at a factory. I adore Brent. He has such innocence about him, and seems perpetually happy. We discuss the weather, our jobs, what we are doing on the weekend, and Brent's favourite subject -- the colour black. This morning he noticed I was wearing black and that made him so happy. He always uses my name, and remembers everything I ever tell him. Brent is special -- in many ways.

The bus is only half full this morning. The heat inside contrasts with the chill outside, and the motion of the bus combined with the warmth makes me sleepy. I have a book to read, but it's not holding my interest. Instead, I watch the commuters. Some are sipping from travel mugs of coffee. Others chat with friends, read the newspaper, or doze, their heads bobbing up and down with the motion of the bus. A young woman boards with a baby in a stroller. She amazes me with her dexterity and organization. Each morning she gets on the bus with all the paraphernalia that comes with taking a child to day care, and in the evening she does it all again in reverse. It can't be easy.

The bus driver has a pleasant greeting for each commuter who gets on, and a "have a nice day," when they get off. I wonder how many of his passengers actually look at him, if they even remember his face, his name, and his kindness. If he's like a lot of bus drivers, his workday could be a split shift. He might drive for a few hours in the morning, then have several hours off before he has to be back for the afternoon rush hour. That can't be easy, either.

My mind is most alert in the morning, fresh from sleep, and ready to face what the day will bring. Thoughts tumble after one another in a mind movie, racing to get to the credits at the end. I contemplate whether to attend a 50th birthday celebration that I received an invitation for. How shall I deal with a sensitive issue at work? What shall I make for supper tonight? Each day is full of decisions, and we must come up with solutions. It’s a part of everyone’s life.

My thoughts drift to people I know and I wonder what they are doing today. I hope my Dad’s MRI turned out okay. I wonder if my son got his car fixed yet? Did my supervisor enjoy her trip to Las Vegas?

I think of the e-mail interaction I had last night with my sisters of the heart, Nancy and Kathe, who live in Kansas and Montana; respectively. Our correspondence heats up the wires, and a day without a message from either of them makes me wonder what's wrong. Despite the miles between us, we share our concerns, interests, and ideas. I worry about them and love them both as though they were my blood sisters although I have yet to meet either of them face to face.

Twenty-five minutes on the bus fly by and I am the last one off. I bid a good day to the bus driver (whose name is Paul). As I cross the street to my office, I wonder why it is that somehow, Kansas and Montana do not seem that far away anymore.

Maria Harden
(c) 2006

Story ID:	1098
Written by:	Maria Harden (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Winnipeg Manitoba Canada
Year:	2006
Person:	Maria