En route 7:11 am 20/12/98

The rain clouds close in, like a rucksack being drawn shut
Orange tipped clouds over brown-orange vegetation,
Like sodium light.

Like the voices of festing Brazilians from the back of this bus
going to Christmases,
of music, family and samba-ah.

Dew drop meteors whiz past on the window
We’re in a tunnel. Sodium lamps reflect in the drops
A Christmas tree twinkling Milky way,
Within the fog on the glass,
A pulsating aurora borealis.

Mountains. Winding roads.
The mist is floating.
Mystery restored.
The Tao waits in the whisps
Beyond the shadowy forest environs.