As the bus pulled away,
with the noise of its engine,
I heard the cries of two falcons
testing the morning air.
It was half an hour after dawn,
a quick and easy journey,
with a short wait, light traffic,
and very few passengers,
Arriving in the early chill,
unhurried morning coffee
and internet ablutions,
now writing a poem outside.
The beatitudes of city life:
public transport, recognizing
my fellow travellers,
each day catching the same bus,
the mixture of humanity
and nature, two falcons
calling in the dawn, and my luck,
to be living here and now.
