Growing up I loved to play games.  As good as I was playing hide and seek, I was not very good at playing the game Clue. 1

You remember Miss Scarlet?  I seemed to never guess the solution first. Did the clues point to Colonel Mustard? Mrs. Peacock? Or, Professor Plum?  Who committed the crime?  Where?  How?

It was all a mystery to me. 

Sometimes I’d guess the right person in the wrong place.  Or, I’d suspect the wrong person when I thought I had it all figured out.  Too often I’d rush to judgment hoping to solve the mystery.

Darkness surrounded our thirty-eight degree October morning. School buses filled the streets with their diesel roar.

Damp, drizzly, dark and dreary. This morning was not ideal for much, but I was looking forward to a day to write. Nearing the coffee shop I reached my left turn lane.

Across from me awaited a school bus. Like me the driver was longing to turn. Traffic was heavy; we both waited to turn.

The bus blocked my immediate view, but I watched for all the cars to pass.