When my father passed away, it was as if all the colors disappeared, and my life suddenly became a dark, hollow spot. Then many months later on a cold, gray winter morning day I jumped in an earlier bus in Ave du Parc. The bus driver was singing out loud, coming up with new, impromptu songs as we passed by streets and intersections, and passengers just started to smile and rejoice. I smiled, too. And that’s when I realized that sometimes we all just need to jump in a singing bus. Life is full of free, amazing little moments and in Le bus qui chante I try to share all those little miracles that sometimes just appear in my days.
imaginado por Carola @ | 4:30 p.m.
2 Comments:
Hola....nieve, esquis??? que suerte, aquí todavía quedan "rastros" del verano, parece que no nos quiere abandonar.
Besos
muertos de la risa los canadienses haciendo kayak o ustedes viendolos desde la banca... o ambos dos?
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