Simple pleasures of riding the bus

A commute so ordinary and restful, burrowed deep in my book -- the joy of a transitarian.

The value of time is what you do with it.

I could have arrived at work a half-hour earlier -- maybe, most days, perhaps. But to what end? Rush for rush sake? Just to see how fast I can get from Point A to Point B? "Damn, I'm fast!"

But instead I read my book while someone else deals with traffic, worries about making the light, frets over the fool who weaves in and out of traffic seeking to pare seconds in time from his race to work.

Not every day goes this well. Certainly some days suck. But it's mornings like this that would convince anyone to give up "speed" for the calming joys of taking the bus to work.