This week is an extra week, so here is another of Emily Hattinkson's adventures. Here is her first one, but you don't really need to read the first one to read the second one. Also, here is a link to a picture of Emery's Cross.
Emily, our dear bus-rider, had been riding the bus for many months now. She was accustomed to the new people, and did not miss the old people. Throughout her many bus rides, Emily saw many different days, with many different suns. She liked to keep track of the different days she was fortunate enough to perceive.
One type of day was when, as Emily liked to say, “The sun wakes up.” On this day, Emily paid her fare, and, luckily, got two chairs to herself. Emily pushed her sweatshirt sleeves up and swung her backpack onto the chair next to her. The traffic was flowing smoothly, and Emily could hear the roaring of the noise the bus makes when it is not aware it is making noise, noise too loud to talk to the person next to you. To Emily, it felt as if the noise was trapped inside her ears, echoing and trying to find a way out. Finally, it grew less and less, until it finally subsided.
Just then, the bus came into view of the city. The stretching sun danced over the lady across from Emily's white, pristine, jacket, resting a moment on Charles the Accountant's sleeping face, before running to reflect on the window, then disappearing like the evanescent dew.
Another day, which Emily only experienced once, she christened the “Magical Day.” The sunlight that day was very much like the sunlight when the sun wakes up, but much richer, and tinged with the rose-gold color few are blessed enough to see. The sun danced even more grandly and wildly than it ever had before, and as they entered the city, the sun's rays colored the buildings the colors fairies paint in a child's dream, a color none can describe, and one would only remember in the back of one's mind, the part whispering: “Remember when. . . Remember when. . .”
In the city, a man was locking a garage, still bathed in the beautiful rays of the sun, and people were beginning to stir, to come out of their sleepy night and enter the glorious day. Each person was a small part of a giant mechanism, like each tiny gear that makes a clock run, or each ant in an anthill, working to keep the hill running. And, as Emily said, there was a magic there none can describe, and very few will have the opportunity to witness.
This last day, this day, Emily entitled: “Fairies' Day,” for this day was full of the good neighbors' fog. The fog covered the top half of the buildings, and so densely that one could not even see the hint of an outline. After Emily had been dropped off at her bus stop, she breathed in a deep breath of the crisp, cold, air, full of the heaviness only fog can bring. As she walked to school, it was difficult to see just across the street, that was how thickly the fog had descended. Emily knew the fairies were planning mischief, maybe to punish someone for a bad gift, or forgetting the wee folk last Saint Patrick's Day, or maybe, as her uncle had told her once, they were helping someone along to find their place.
If Emily closed her eyes, she could just imagine the fairies twisting the fog, and then, Emily would open her eyes, and be in a field, or maybe under a tree of Emery's Cross. Or, maybe the wispy tendrils of the mist would slowly, quietly, wrap around her, and bring her to a far-off land. Whatever the case, the Fairies' Day held adventure for some charmed soul.
These days and many others graced Emily's time riding the bus. For, adventure can always be found if one has enough courage.
*Post written on 3/28/17
Source: (Emery's Cross):https://garethwray.com/product/the-emery-celtic-cross-gods-stamp-on-ireland/