There’s an uncanny calm in waiting at a bus stop before dawn. Thin air hangs. The street is drowsy. A solitary lamppost hums. A fox darts across the road. For once, time pauses, almost courteous. Just then: a distant hiss, the soft but deliberate approach of the bus engine from far away. The first hint of light stretches over the horizon, painting the sky with the faintest blush of lavender. It’s a subtle reminder that habit, not haste, drives the world, and occasionally, it forgets to resume. As the bus pulls away, the lamppost’s hum returns, a quiet resonance that lingers, leaving a gentle echo in the morning’s stillness.
