snarl

it’s been a while since i last used public transport so today felt like a new adventure. the rain, however, was nothing new and my spirit was already damp.

it had been a fraught afternoon, shopping with my elderly mother whose mood was cantankerous at best. two hours later than anticipated, i boarded the 17:37hrs #46A to Leven to spend time with my beautiful lover.

the bus rolled out the terminal and headed off in the opposite direction to what i expected.
‘shit ‘n’ fuck!’ i thought to myself. this bus takes the ‘scenic’ route.

i am sat, on the lower deck, by the window. a window i can’t see out. the windows are all steamed up, ergo, the scenic route is just another wet inconvenience.

the bus stops at Markinch train station. nobody boards. but i am bored.

the window-wipers bleat a high-pitch whine, repeatedly, as if complaining about having to make this thankless journey again… and again… in the rain.

the driver hurtles us through the narrow and twisted streets, mounting the kerb on a tight bend and braking harshly at every given opportunity. this is not a comfortable journey, and i doubt that even a splash of sunshine would make it pleasant.

i look out the window and see fields. we are heading to a tiny village called Star. ah, but is it?

and still the wipers whine…

it’s miserable outside. the rain is relentless. the backlash of hurricane Bertha, apparently.

the village of Star looks somewhat lacklustre, in today’s downpour. grey skies and grey pavements; would-be pretty hanging baskets of rain-sodden flowers, their heads wilting in the weight of the water upon them, seem like a futile effort to prettify this place.

i feel a little like that today. rain-soaked, my head feels fuzzy and spirit heavy.

we zip through Kennoway and stop to pick up a woman wearing a brown sheepskin coat and sandals. she leaves watery footprints in the aisle as she squelches to take a seat in front of me. she smells like a wet dog.

and still the wipers whine…

the driver mounts the kerb… again. jesus.

we exit Kennoway and head towards Leven, full throttle. the bus rattles and rumbles, rocks and rolls on through the Fife countryside. the engine groans, straining to keep up with the driver’s demands.

this has not been a fun ride.

i peer through the window and see we are in Leven.

i am but five minutes from my lover’s arms…

… and still the wipers whine…

(c) Kat McDonald 2014

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