neon lit by dawn

This is where my bus leaves from on a Thursday. For a few brief minutes the rousing sky blushed, reddened to flame then faded to ash. All while I waited to board the bus.
There is something about neon signs still burning as it gets light. Something tender; a night vigil evocation, a ghost in the morning. Michael Ondaatje's fine lines of poetry always come to mind  - fragile/ as neon/ in the morning light . Indeed.

So I boarded the bus. At 8.14 (every Thursday, and only on a Thursday) she gets on - hood up - and radiates her splendour, throwing the paltry interior bus lighting into feeble relief . Just as dawn overwhelms the neon in the image.
I wonder if she senses my blushes, my heart aflame then the ash of reality as I get off at my stop 4 minutes later? And so, on foot: to work, to dream. Till 8.14 next Thursday !

Onwards !!