On the 49 from Northcote
For The Sunday Muse Prompt #188 and the 49 from Northcote to White City: ** On the 49 from Northcote, a young woman sits. She folds her hands, hangs her feet, and lets the world without slip by - grey granite yielding to gleaming glass, verdant green disappearing behind the whorls of potted plants. Somewhere outside, the river wends its way across the plain. Above, in a fleeting moment a giant clanging bird roars. Somewhere on the corner of Shepherd’s Bush and King’s an old man, wraps his hands around himself as his breath draws wisps in the winter wind. As it was in the beginning and now is the river remains. We all like small lights flicker, and then are gone.