The Wheels on the Bus is one of the stand by songs in the preschool. Who doesn't love to move their arms like wipers, and tell riders to "move on back"? 

The other day I found myself behind the school bus. Her stop sign was swiveled out, stalling traffic in both directions. I watched as a flock of kids burdened by backpacks scurried on, their mothers and fathers waving mittened hands in affection. Only when the wheels on the bus actually moved again did the adults turn around and head to their responsibilities. The route included a couple more stops, and each time a few or a lot of students hustled into the yellow vehicle. How many kids could fit there anyway? I imagined that other drivers were impatient with the delay, but I savored it. Witnessing the adoration of the parents for their children was as rejuvenating as any cup of espresso. There were practically visible tethers between them, snapped when the door shut. 

Or not. 

Between stop lights I saw a flock of sparrows, or starlings maybe, as they lifted off from a power line. How do they know the moment to let go? Does one of them give a verbal cue? They had no mittens, I noticed. 

Later I saw a tired man waiting at a bus stop. His hair was long and unkempt. Clearly, he had bigger concerns than personal grooming. It would not be a yellow one for him, but city transportation. Those lumbering, forty foot monsters swing through intersections as if they are invincible, and maybe they are. There was no parent waiting with eager eyes to make sure he boarded safely. 

Or was there? 

"But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Do not fear, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows." Luke 12