Of a winter morning, I sometimes see it lumber soundlessly up the grade as if to pickup the Demoss children. They've been gone now these many years. All of us left in the hollow are uncomfortable with age. It's not just me. Our ponies grazing in the steep pasture glance up as the bus creeps past. They recognize the yellow visitor. It carries neither students or driver, yet now and again the ponies and I watch it struggle lonely up the narrow gravel trail looking for children who are no longer there. We've all become heavy with gray and memories, with myopia and arthritis. Our breaths are hesitant and our hearts unsteady. The West Virginia hills have become unscalablely steep. Some days, the old fellow from the head of the hollow limps the seven miles down to Thornton. Faithfully, his scrawny bluetick guides his way there and back, watchful for a coon or groundhog. The former miner boosts his frail frame with a stout walking stick. He returns with his burlap sack of necessities slung over his right shoulder. He whistles as he trudges. The bluetick noses in the trickling run. I've seen the yellow bus encounter the man as he descends toward the highway. A dozen lights flashing, the phantom slows to squirm past him on the cramped way. The bluetick howls as if ghosts trouble him. Craning to look into the windows, it warns the specters away. The commotion troubles the ponies and the cattle waiting for their meal. The old miner ignores the bus as if he doesn't see it. Rebecca's Bargain Antiques Collectible Vintage Photos Fine Prints - Old Maps Sheet Music - Old Books Elegant Antiques and Collectibles "Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth," Thomas Gray (1716-1771) You are welcome to use or republish any of our material. Please give www.prisoners.com credit as the source. Return to the Works By Prisoner Authors and Others Menu. Return to the Main Menu. Go to our site's Search Engine. Send us Your Comments, Questions or Input.