RURAL ROUTE

Catch a particular bus in rural Durham, on a certain day, and if you look out of the rain-stained window at the right time, you’ll see a small row of terraced houses, and outside them a little child, in a yellow raincoat, throwing a ball against the end wall and catching it. Then the bus will labour up a hill, and you’ll pass a man leaning against a tree, hidden by its shadow, smoking a cigarette and watching the bus go by.
You’ll drive by some fields of stunted crops, a single tree in the middle of it. Then you’ll see a small row of terraced houses, and outside them a little child, in a yellow raincoat, throwing a ball against the end wall and catching it. Then the bus will labour up a hill, and you’ll pass a man leaning against a tree, hidden by its shadow, smoking a cigarette and watching the bus go by.
You’ll drive by some fields of stunted crops, a single tree in the middle of it. Then you’ll see a small row of terraced houses, and outside them a little child, in a yellow raincoat, throwing a ball against the end wall and catching it. Then the bus will labour up a hill, and you’ll pass a man leaning against a tree, hidden by its shadow, smoking a cigarette and watching the bus go by.
Sometimes the bus driver stops by the terraced houses, or on the hill, or by the field with the single tree, even though nobody has rung the bell. Do not decide to get off and explore. The child will whistle for the man, or the man will whistle for the child, or the tree will whistle for them both, and not one of them is a man or a child or a tree.