At the Bus Stop



Clouds painted in the sky In grey and white streaks. The wind blowing Almost gently enough to be called a breeze. Patches of blue canvas Showing through the white. Cool, but not cold. Dim, but not dark. Maple trees still green and leafy With spatters of gold and red within. Quite tranquil... But for the streams of cars and trucks Rushing past in endless fury. Can they see the quiet beauty That surrounds them?