Always

Quietness is the only thing she can hear. Like a puddle of salty rain upon gravel made of dirt and stone, combined to form paths of streets and coal for roads, the quiet is the same quiet that meets her on some of those days when she is standing by the road waiting on the bus to arrive so that she may go to school, it is peaceful and satisfying but leaves much room for her imagination to roam and consume her. Each day she wanders down the street she calls home and makes her way to the stiff, firm bus stop sign marked noticeably right before the corner of the street turns and heads into the new direction. She stands closer to it and likes to admire it solemnly. The blue color and white color contrast. The combination has been synonymous with her city, her hometown, the only place she has ever truly known, and she often wonders if other places use those same colors to designate bus service stops throughout their cities and neighborhoods. Whenever she thinks of this she also thinks of life elsewhere. Will the trees grow just like they do here? Will the air smell like nature, all and all? Or will it be like a whole other world?