First Daze

Following a summer of going to bed after the fireflies, the blare of my alarm startles me. Yet, I fall easily into the memory of routine. Throw on the clothes laid out the night before, brush my teeth, throw a granola bar into the backpack and trudge down the street to the bus stop. I kick rocks into the grate, waiting for the distant splash before I kick another. The bus screeches to a stop. I slip into a seat halfway back, resting my forehead onto the cool glass window, bumping alongside the potholes in the road. One more year.