Is about stories to share

She looked down at the speedometer, her mind had wandered and now she was only going 4 over the speed limit. Not quite the speedster that she usually is. Where is my head today? echoed in her mind. The constant whirl of the tires and the intermittent thump from the bumps in the road did nothing to keep her mind on the present. The radio had been turned down to a bare whisper minutes before, when it was noticed that each song seemed to hold yet another message that she longed to share or an emotion that she was wrestling with.

"Tell me a story," she asked.
A questioning feeling floated back in reply to her request. Oh well..

"About what?"
"It doesn't matter. Just make something up."
"I don't know if I could do that..."

She looked up, hoping for some sign that could ease her mind.

"Tell me about a cloud." Pointing out the windshield to the only cloud in the sky. "Tell me about that cloud." Miles away, and solitary, but the gray bunching at the bottom made the cloud seem strong.

"Hmmm, well, his name is Bob."
"Bob?"
"Yes, and he is a very old cloud. Thousands of years old."
"I see."
"Bob doesn't have many friends. Just a few other clouds. They live over in India and China and Antartica."
"Wow, that's far...does he see them often?"
"No, sadly not. He has to work and so do they. They have to water the world."

She could see him looking out the window, looking for something else to share about Bob. Its not easy to make up a story on the spot, she knew, but he seemed to be doing well. At the least, he was making her smile and forget her problems for a bit.

"Bob loves to watch trees and people. He looks down on them and likes to see all the people mowing their lawns."
"Why is that?"
"Because that's what he likes."
Of course she thinks.

For the first time that week, she feels peaceful. A simple story about a cloud seems to make her troubles go to the back of her mind. Her grin is genuine. She's not sure that if she told him how wonderful his quick little story was, he would believe her.

Silence drifts back. The low mummer of the radio and the contact of the wheels on the pavement dominate the interior again. Sighing at how sort lived that moment was, she looks back at the instruments on the dashboard.

"That tree over there...that tree's name is Bob too..."
She smiles again, perhaps he knows how good a story teller he is after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silently the cursor blinks
Yet the blinking seems louder
Than any train passing by
The reply is blank still
The question asked
And emptiness has been given back
Looking away seems like
It would be a simple answer
But like a giant light
In the middle of a dark field
It draws the mind back
Like a multicolored bug