Kipilefti

We woke at 4.15 so we could get good seats on the 5 A.M. bus. We were out the door by 4.30, but unfortunately so was Ting, slipping out while we were distracted, so we spent the next half hour chasing her around the outside of the house with flashlights, thankful that it wasn’t the all-black cat who escaped. She eventually took refuge in the kitchen and we were on our way, getting on the bus just as it began its 5.00 drive-through-town-and-honk routine.
I sort of love the early bus: seeing the sun rise over the mountains makes waking up worth it. The full moon was huge and bright above the pastel sky as the day came, and I wished I were driving, so I could stop and photograph the tawny hills with the waxing sky above. Sometimes I forget how beautiful these mountains are; living here makes me jaded.
Annie’s shoulder was warm against mine as she nodded off, woke, nodded off again. I, eternally unable to sleep on any sort of transport, kept staring out the window, transfixed, watching the light of the rising sun slant its way across the mountains.
All the plants within ten feet of the road are dull tan, covered in dust. All except the flowers, which somehow stay dust-free, startling dots of color in the otherwise monotone landscape. I can tell when vehicles are coming because they send up clouds of dust behind them, visible on the curvy mountain roads. I know that when we arrive our bags, stowed in the bottom compartment, will be covered in dust.