a bus ride

A Bus Ride I had bought a newspaper in town and was taking the bus home an hours ride up to my village. I looked at the headlines noticed the paper had no date was I reading yesterday’s today`s news or tomorrow`s The bus was empty this afternoon it struck me how silent it ran could only hear the swishing sound of rubber against the asphalted road. Then the bus stopped on this journey outside my house so many flowers now in November, my dog sat on the steps waiting just for me. The bus door opened with a sigh, but the dog didn`t run to me I hesitated; was it the same house yet not the same this one looked immaterial the flowers were pale, a copy of a painting forgotten  rural art exhibition arranged by a local culturally interested GP Not my village I said to the driver and sat down “Are you sure?” the driver asked, I didn’t answer the bus rolled on. Opened the newspaper It was Monday.