I sit on the bus, smelling the musty seats that have an odor like that of a moth-eaten sweater.
The pipes rattle under the bus. It creaks and groans in agony as we slow to pick up some students.
The lights turn off, and we are on our way again.
Approaching the intersection, I see something that makes me gasp.
I nudge my friend, but she isn't there.
I turn back to the window. The trees of the woods are alight with morning fire, as if He spilled His pallet of scarlet and crimson dyes onto the earthy canvas.
As we pass through the woods, splashing through puddles filled with rainwater from last night's shower, others see it too.
It grows larger and more beautiful in size, utterly soaking the sky, shedding a rare, glorious light through the bug-smeared windows of the fixer upper bus.
Kids young and old begin to pull out phones and iPads, hoping to catch a picture of the heavenly display and keep it.
I reach for mine too, and take one frame, before realizing some things can't be captured by materialistic objects, and returned it to my backpack.
As the sky grows light with the coming day, my view of my situation brightens, and I give the world a grand smile.
I can still picture it-a beautiful memory, too bold for any frame, to beautiful to be worthy of a witness, yet I was there. I feel it in my heart and my mind, and it remains one of my most precious memories to this day.
