Swimming against the grain

I work for a big fancy university. The powers that be there conveniently provide a shuttle from the thoroughfare at the end of my road straight to my office. 

It’s a very lucky thing and saves me untold mental strain and dollars during hustling rush hour commutes. 

But because it’s on the busiest street in the neighborhood, waiting for the bus can be a chore. Bus fumes, beeping cars, screeching breaks. It’s a bustly world in the mornings. 

But this spring I discovered a secret. 

Rather than face the road, staring down traffic and watching people breakfast at stop lights, I do an about-face when I arrive at my stop. Eventhough I stand in the same queue as everyone else, I face the other way. 

Nestled on the other side of the pavement resides a very posh dormatory. It has a fountain in the garden and a riot of bird song in the branches. 

Sure, I get the slant glances and curious looks of people caught in their routine and unable to see what I see. Unable to imagine why I turn my back on the bus lane I’m waiting for.

But what I see is beautiful enough — soul-fortifying enough — they can stare until the crows come home. 

Facing this direction, my morning is nesting pairs and budding branches, baby bunnies and dappled light. Facing this direction, I’m alive.

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