The First School Bus

Sept 6 2015

The first school bus

catches me off-guard;

a sudden end to summer

the relentless coming of fall.

Its red lights flash, and all traffic stops;

an line of idling cars,

like sullen kids

waiting for class.

September is a bittersweet month.

The days can be just as hot,

but August's muggy thickness

has lifted.

While nights are long, cool, clear,

with a serious hint

of woodsmoke.

And even thought the world

is still green and lush

the first leaves have turned;

as if telling us

it's only a matter of time.

Labour Day weekend

and it's the best weather yet

in an unseasonably wet summer.

How cruel

to confine the kids to class

anxious, and bleary-eyed,

when they should be outside

accomplishing absolutely nothing.

And how sad

that it's nice, at last,

just when fall

is inexorably coming.

But a beautiful summer day

in September

is like anything rare;

we feel grateful, and blessed,

taking extra pleasure

in the unexpected heat.

Counting on this perfect day

to sustain us through a hard winter

reluctant spring.

The school bus starts, only to stop;

brakes squealing

straddling the shoulder, hogging the road.

Then starts again,

belching-out blue-black smoke

and grinding through the gears.

Red lights flash,

like a stern teacher

setting down the rules.

As if to warn us

that summer is over, back to school.

As if to say

please take your seats

real life resumes.

 For some reason, they started school here in the last week of August. I was surprised to see the first school bus -- resuming its regular route, at its regular time -- in the week before Labour Day. How cruel, I thought!

I'd prefer if we thought of real life as the summer, rather than the school year. I use the term ironically, even though that may not be obvious to other readers. After all, doing absolutely nothing -- unstructured time -- has much to be said for it. ...But so it goes.

It's Sept 6, and it's true: the last few days have been the best all season. At least the nice weather waited until there weren't any bugs! But how extra cruel is that: the kids, confined to sweltering classrooms, gazing longingly out the windows on such beautiful days? (Btw, bleary-eyed is because they're not used to waking up at such an ungodly hour. Even without the bad habits of summer, school starts too early for normal adolescents. And anxious is because starting a new school year is always filled with anxieties: will I get the "good" teacher(s)? ...will I wear the right clothes? ...will I fit in? ...will I be up to the work? ...will I make the team?)

Or maybe today's kids don't notice. After all, isn't most of their time spent indoors, in front of screens? And even when they are outside, aren't they always fixed on those little screens that are constantly at hand?