I was near the end of my commute last night, going across the Tappan Zee Bridge over the Hudson. My friend Cynthia sat next to me on the bus, both of us staring out the window at blue skies, cotton ball clouds and sailboats on the calm water.
If only I could calm down, I thought.
Cynthia was probably glad I was finally quiet, at least. I’d bent her ear on the 40-minute train ride from Grand Central about my too-busy day at the office, the list of home repairs I’d never get done, and where was I going to find $6,000 for my daughter’s braces? I wanted to go straight home, put on my PJs and crawl into bed.
“Look,” Cynthia said. “It’s a pig sleeping.”
No way, I thought, until my eyes went to the clouds and I saw it immediately. Unmistakably. A pig sleeping!
“Oh, wait, it’s changing,” I said. “The head’s getting some kind of hat—”
“Our pig turned into a standard poodle!”
“With a coiffed head and poufy tail!” I had to laugh, two grown women playing I Spy with the clouds. It wasn’t the first time my friend had given me a lift when I was down.
“What else do you see?” Cynthia asked.
“An angel.”
“Where?”
“Sitting right next to me on this bus.”
