A tranquil breeze blowing softly through my hair under the shade of the bus shelter, I sat waiting for the bus. The fresh new leaves glistened vibrantly in the bright sunlight while a pair of squirrels scurried after each other through the thickening brush. Cars whipped passed on the road, carrying their passengers to a plethora of locations. I run my fingers over the tiny screen, checking the time and choosing a song. A bus speeds past — I jump up! Was that my bus? Couldn’t be. The word “garage” appeared in bright lights on the ticker. I stare down the road, hoping to see my bus somewhere nearby. Nothing. I sit back down, dejected, to wait again. Honeybees float between clover blossoms, digging through the hidden nectar. For a brief moment, I want to reach out and pet the honeybee. Then I come to my senses and realize how terrifying this might be for both me and the bee — the bee, after all, dies after it stings someone. I spot the bus down the road, slowly gliding towards me. A group of men unload coolers and fishing gear over by the lake. The bus grows larger, moving swifter. I wait cautiously on the sidewalk, watching the cars zoom passed. Finally, the bus has arrived.
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