laconic | sᴀᴛᴏsᴇʀᴇ

14. 》》 Psithurism

❝(n.) The sound of wind through trees.❞

Bus rides have always been trips to a distant and picturesque world for me since I was little.

With those gangs of elementary students imagining themselves on a cruise and leaning their head out of open windows, screaming out "hello"s and "goodbye"s to anonymous sidewalkers. That unmarried lady in her twentys with the trademark 'formal look' - black pencil skirt and off white uppers - Manicured fingers tapping on her Kindle rather discreetly while the bus strap hanger gripped in her other hand.

On occasional instances, you could even hear the bus driver or possibly the conductor blasting Green Day and Backstreet Boys hits from their Tannoy subwoofer amplifier.

'Tell me why, Ain't nothing but a heartache.'

'Tell me why, Ain't nothing but a mistake.'

Yeah, that song wasn't a repeatedly voiced 'meme' during our childhood era. It was a song that held great nostalgia for us. Rock bands from the 90s worked just that way.

In-motion breezes dashing from the unlocked fenestella hummed in my ears and the sweat at the back of my head evaporated into thin air. I kept my elbow on the velvety armrest of my seat yet my eyes never teared away from the lateral view that the slow-pace drive offered me.

Rolling fields were on both sides of the devon lane the bus trailed on and I cringed everytime a speed-bump crossed the way.

And come to think of it, who bob-the-builder minded constructor must've inserted speed-bumps in the middle of a desolate road within meadows? The concept of traffic jam doesn't even hints to exist here!

The freshness of timeless green patches tilled with indigo and rice plantations could ameliorate your blocked nostrils from cough. As in my case, the aroma tingled my skin and functioned as a splash of water on my face in morning.

There was a vague amount of sunlight that seeped through the grey floofs in the sky and it could handily make a person question whether evening was falling soon.

But checking time on my writswatch indicated almost the opposite: it was three in the afternoon.

Although the weather here in Kanto could fool someone carrying umbrella and it doesn't rain otherwise, I did borrow Lillie's - It had a white canopy and a polished, silver handel.

Clean and flimsy - Something that resembled that blondie's personality to perfection.

Flashes of a hazy water surface came into my views as the bus drifted towards east, and a wave of nostalgia panged my heart louder than it should have. River Sakae.

Or you can say- my self owned swimming pool during summer vacations. A personal aquarium where I regularly used to supply the fishes with boiled rice from leftout lunch. Or perhaps this river was a forgotten companion with whom although I had spent less time with, still had a soft corner buried deep within my heart.