A poem by Sci Tech Participant, Bus 12
Everything is the same, but different. That was my first thought on our far-too-long bus ride from the airport. Then it was the sun. It was a close second. The sun is the same mass of incandescent gas we’ve sung about at camp, but this time blood dripped from the sunset and orange lilies sprouted from the horizon. This time, the sun was so fiery-red that my blue eyes turned purple. After seeing the same sun for 16 years – and becoming utterly underwhelmed by what I had seen at home – I was excited to see something new. Except that there are strangers bustling through the airport like any other airport. They are utterly underwhelmed by what they see; they see it everyday. So maybe by the end of the trip it won’t be different anymore: less fire and purple and extraordinary sunsets. Less wide eyes and more eye rolls. Maybe it’s just the same sun with no special stories and no creative sparks tied to its rays. Maybe I just need to watch our sunset a few more times.
