Last Wednesday, I caught a bus into town. The Ridgerunner. It leaves every 30 minutes, on the hour and on the half-hour. It took me along the ridge, down the hill, and around to the University of Otago. The driver pulled over for a 10-minute break, leaving the doors open. I stayed on. He then settled back into his seat, started the engine, and continued on the route. We circled around, went back up the hill, followed the ridge again, and went down the other side toward South Dunedin.
When driving a car, you have to watch the road and the cars around you. Neither is very interesting. But as a passenger on the bus, I could look out the window and watch the world go by. I saw things that might have made a good photograph but I decided to remain on the bus and complete the trip.
I clicked the shutter in my head as we barrelled along, the windows of the bus framing imagined shots that were visible for a fraction of a second. There was time for just one silent shot of each scene. I tried to remember where the promising locations were but I knew that, if I went back later, I wouldn’t see what I had seen on the bus. Meanwhile, the sun flickered through the trees, projecting patterns that raced across the colourful fabric on the empty seat beside me.
I got off at the end of the route and walked back toward the centre of town. I passed a blank storefront on Princes Street, the view inside blocked by black plastic, which lined the inside of the window. I could hear the sound of a circular saw. As I stood there, the black plastic turned the window into a mirror and I became aware of my reflection. I stepped back to frame a shot and watched as a stream of cars, three cyclists, and several pedestrians passed by in the viewfinder (all looking into the blacked-out window, wondering what I was focusing on).
Over the next while, several buses passed. Their white flank and dark doors framed my reflection, and their colours brightened things up. Especially the blazing orange circle. Orbus. At one point, a young man emerged from the shop, holding a circular saw. He told me he was going to open a barbershop. The costume place that used to be there must have gone out of business, I thought to myself. Oh well, what goes around comes around.
Every now and then, as I walked toward the Octagon, one of those orange circles would race past. Round and round, like the wheels on the bus. They were playing with me, daring me to catch them. Cheeky little devils. But I was up for it.
I turned left up Moray Place towards Stuart Street, which would take me up the steep hill towards home. I caught sight of coloured streamers on the handlebars of a pink scooter, and I stopped. They were dancing in the wind, just to amuse themselves. I watched for a time, impressed by their youthful athleticism — left, right, squat, jump!
When I was a kid, we used to attach playing cards to the wheels of our bikes with clothes pegs. As the wheels turned, the cards flicked the spokes, making a clicking sound. Click, click, click, click, click, like the hand of a clock counting the seconds as it swept round and round. If you peddled fast enough, you could catch up with the future.
What’s next?
I’m making this up as I go along, so I can’t really say. But Halloween is coming up soon.
What do you think?
You are invited to leave a comment below.
Love the scooter! Wheeeeeeee. (and the flowers)
I think your response to the photo was similar to my response to seeing the streamers on that pink motorised scooter. It reminded me of a world we were born into but we were desperate to grow out of; a world we can no longer inhabit but wish we could return to — a world where pleasures are simple things, life is a dance, and magic is everywhere.