Over there, in the middle distance, is a small picnic; voices mingle with the warm breeze. Sounds always seem to carry further on the hot nights. Wafting gently toward me are their voices, and I hear snatches of their conversation, filtered by the summer air:
"That guy over there's the best bus driver."
"There. Walking by himself."
"That's a bus driver?"
"Yeah. No, he's the best driver ever. He's amazing. He says hi to every person that gets on the bus. And I mean every single person, doesn't matter..."
"Huh. He looks like a kid!"
I smile to myself. How can I not? Briefly I consider walking over to them, to thank them, to ask after their day- but no, no need to wallow further in congratulations. It's not about that. I'll let them have their picnic. Somehow it's better this way. I've heard what I needed to hear. Everything in its right place.
Just some whispers on a summer breeze.