Backseat
The city sleeps in its hazy blanket. Under the snow-capped mountains, The cherry blossoms flutter. Their fuchsia wings Descend onto the shoulders Of hectic passersby, boots inked with mud To catch the nearest bus. The windows reflect the matchbox houses That fling away with the spring breeze. Back seat, nestled among the bulk backpacks, I open my book. A flip Breaks the silence of the bus As it travels uphill and down to the misty ocean that undulates along the dog-eared pages, where the primly printed lines unfold the stories that have never been told before the spring days of Vancouver. Thumbnail image: Cherry blossoms in Richmond, taken on one of the rare sunny days.