Looking out the foggy bus window
          As the fast cars pass by in a rush to be hailed by the endless road construction ahead
              Tree's in empty fields bare and frozen by winters scorn, fallen branches forever ******
                   Grass of faded pale green cold and crunchy, frosted by the morning condensation
Fading into a dream watching the endless lines on the highway pass as a horse gallops along a painted Pickett fence
           Lonesome cries of a never ending road only alive when traveled
                          A dim mist rises above the warm pavement as the bitter cold merges and becomes one with it
In the distance sits a house on a hilltop, smoke rising from the chimney, surrounded by acres of lonely land
The low echo of whispers fill a small crowed bus with passengers traveling alone, holding a bus ticket with no destination
                       The trip, a beautiful winters dream