Too many wheels. I took the buses to South Bend, only to find a note on the door--they're in Seattle now, at the hospital. That can't be good. And I've wasted all this time.
But they had no way to get a hold of me.
So I'm on another bus. The wheels on the bus go… and I'm going.
I'm not a going kind of person. I'm a stayer.
The miles of Douglas fir stream by, stopped by patches of clear cut. A devastation or a living, depending on who signs your paycheck. Right now, I have no energy for those arguments. The knot in my gut sits hard.
I set my knitting down as the bus swings onto 101 South--it never makes sense when I want to be going North. Why can't the highway just go there, instead of criss-crossing like a sailboat tacking upwind. I think. Sailing is not my strong suit.
A couple more hours.
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