mary

[wildmountainthyme]

Sometimes when I look out from my window I can almost believe
I am seven years old. I am back in our old house and I am
watching the buses arrive at the terminus. We lived just a
little up the road and from our window you could see the
number 2, 21 or the 12 bus coming and going. I am waiting for
ma to come home from the town, every bus that arrives my little
heart is ready to burst, there? No!
Another woman wearing the same grey jacket that ladies of a certain age wear,
not flash but sensible and waterproof, handy in Scotland, carrying her
shopping bags, looking like a bee with its precious pollen
returning home to the hive.
There? No! That’s her? No, not this time! So I breathe on the
window and I draw a smiling face. Ah? Here's another bus? Yes!
As she gets closer she can see me at the window and she waves,
I run to the front door to meet her, happy to have her home
again, but, I'm even happier because I know that she'll have a
wee sweetie or something else nice in her bag for me.
Now though, I look out from a different window, a grown man, a great deal older,
my mother is blind and she’s had a stroke, she walks with a tripod and
her left side doesn’t work.
Today I look out from a different window but I can still see the terminus, the
buses bigger and brighter, still arriving 3 at a time, is it still so hard to work
out a proper schedule?
Now if I see a lady carrying her shopping I imagine that she is my ma, just for a few seconds, and that she's coming home, waving to me and smiling as she walks up the road to our house, and I feel great and I’m happy, and I wonder what my ma's brought me back today?

[Pauline]

I love the sentiment behind this reflection from your past.
I get a feeling of frustration,sadness, and immense love for your mother.
You are obviously very close to your ma, and it comes across in this piece.
Thanks for the read Dan.
Enjoyed.

[wildmountainthyme]

thanks young master, you are quite right, and for once it's true, i am her biggest fan.
dan