Bus Report #1058
Early morning, Valentine's Day.
Clement Street was quiet and dark, except.
Except at the florist's, the lights blazing, the window display crammed with the usual orchids and dozens of bouquets of roses and tulips and lilies.
The entirety of the Flower Mart stuffed into a Clement Street shop window.
The shop is usually closed in the mornings unless the owner is preparing funeral arrangements (always beautiful, if sad), graduation leis (always beautiful, and full of promise), or, as he was doing the other day, large and colorful bouquets. It made the morning feel brighter, special.
One man, one small storefront, but those flowers. More color than the eye can handle at 6:45 AM.
On the bus, just me and the mom with the two sons and some sleepy Mission High School kids.
Later, riding home, a girl holding just one deep red rose, careful not to squish it amidst the crush of evening commuters.
At the stop just before mine, a familiar person shuffles on. My heart grows three sizes; it is Mr. Taylor, the world's oldest school crossing guard. Still alive! Still taking the bus! Slower, of course, and using a walker. No crossing guard vest so perhaps he is retired. But the same intense eyes, the same lovely smile.
As I disembark and head to catch the 38, I call out to Stephan to have a good weekend. He smiles, waves back, and takes off.
Clement Street was quiet and dark, except.
Except at the florist's, the lights blazing, the window display crammed with the usual orchids and dozens of bouquets of roses and tulips and lilies.
The entirety of the Flower Mart stuffed into a Clement Street shop window.
The shop is usually closed in the mornings unless the owner is preparing funeral arrangements (always beautiful, if sad), graduation leis (always beautiful, and full of promise), or, as he was doing the other day, large and colorful bouquets. It made the morning feel brighter, special.
One man, one small storefront, but those flowers. More color than the eye can handle at 6:45 AM.
On the bus, just me and the mom with the two sons and some sleepy Mission High School kids.
Later, riding home, a girl holding just one deep red rose, careful not to squish it amidst the crush of evening commuters.
At the stop just before mine, a familiar person shuffles on. My heart grows three sizes; it is Mr. Taylor, the world's oldest school crossing guard. Still alive! Still taking the bus! Slower, of course, and using a walker. No crossing guard vest so perhaps he is retired. But the same intense eyes, the same lovely smile.
As I disembark and head to catch the 38, I call out to Stephan to have a good weekend. He smiles, waves back, and takes off.
posted by Rachel at 10:05 AM
2 Comments:
Miss your commentary of the city by bus. Can you do the same type stories of what you see and do in the neighborhoods? Thanks! Miss all the people you wrote about.
Thank you, Kris!
I really appreciate your kind words.
I miss all the people, too!
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