busses

it seems like every now and again I find myself on a bus

I could have never, ever imagined that I'd one day ride.

In Maine it was a school bus,

wizzing through the winding roads and woods of Raymond,

an energy of excitement & impromptu boy band choruses in the air -

into the bustling traffic of Portland,

taking loads of kids downtown for a Sea Dogs game.

In Rwanda,

my gaze was lost out the window

as I sat in my tie dye tshirt & wax print headband,

sweating, wide-eyed, watching the green hills roll by

as people walked all too close to the path our little virunga

full of muzungus

zipping by.

Today,

after 3 hours of sleep & a pounding headache induced

by the discovery of peppermint patty delights,

I scratched the ice off the windows of our unheated school bus

on this 12 degree day,

making our way to Willow

to find snow capped mountains, typically seen from the Cook Inlet,

looking larger & closer than ever before.

Usually when I'm on one of these busses,

well, here I am again on a bus,

in this strange land, so unlike the lands before

with people who are new to me

and I'm so far from home

how did I end up on this bus?

crosses my mind.

I was a bit too sleepy to think it all through this morning,

but every now & again I'd rustle out of my slumber to hear a man over the bus radio announce

check out the moose grazing to your left

Denali is visible in the distance over there!

Well folks, here we are - Iditarod 2011.