Winter is coming; it shows in the delicate frosting of the driveway. As I wait for the bus, it seems to somehow connect - thought drifts for a moment, and winter is as bus: unpredictable, but inevitable and swift. Once aboard, I am taken aback - bus, too, is as winter, sterile and surreal. The sun rises as bus hurtles on, bringing a wash of warmth to the riders, and we wait.