after a hard day’s work, i sprinted to catch an elusive Sunday bus to Leven to be with my lover.
thankfully, the 20.06hr #43A was running late, the driver had slunk off to the drivers’ mess.
on his return, i boarded the bus and put my feet up on the panel in front of me. it was a short bus, and thankfully, a short ride to Leven. no fucking about. no scenic tour through a series of villages and towns. a straight A to B where a home-cooked, fragrant Thai veggie curry and foot massage awaited me.
the difficult parts of the day were eased by promises of his arms and hummingbird kisses.
i gazed out the window, willing the bus to speed me to him.
the sky was lilac and peach – a Turner prize. clouds, like smudges of thin white paint from a careless hand, hung haphazardly. it was beautiful. the setting sun reflected in the golden glass of passing car windscreens, shop fronts and cosy home windows.
an elderly couple sat opposite me chatting about their day. he fidgeted with his peaked cap, worn back to front hip-hop style, as he listened to her words – nodding in silent accord. he was a dapper old man. seventy three years young, i heard him say. his white knock-off Tommy Hilfiger trainers were immaculate. she sat with her handbag on her lap, twiddling her leather-clad thumbs, and talked at him.
the elderly couple alighted at Windygates.
the sky was now a deep cool shade of lilac; the clouds now dissipated into a silken haze.
i gazed out west. the sun had slumped below the horizon – heading home – just as i intended to do with my lover.
home. i stared into the horizon and could feel the solace; the warmth of home.
‘he is my horizon and i am almost there… i’m almost home.’
for Robert x
(c) Kat McDonald 2014