Traveling from city to another

When we ride through the local settings the bus wakes up--the greenness of the grass and the brick homes are visible with our eyes closed. We are waking up from the highway which puts us to sleep. There is nothing we see on the highway that presses its colors and shapes through our 1st set of eyes--just a continuous stream of trees bare naked, then full and the meditative hum of the road underneath us. The highway is clear of impressions, of permanence and cling--one cannot sit with images and gaze upon them for long before they are passed by in our motion forward. Farmlands and lakes, sleeping passengers and wide bridges, horses and cattle.
The highway shows us how each of these worlds is and makes you move on. we are mesmerized at a dilapidated house with panels of exposed construction work a crashed in roof and a little tikes yellow and red car wagon parked in the drive way. We are conjuring up lives and sweaters worn in cold winters near the wind of the whipping cars and a middle class family with a father who looks out at his 1/2 acre when he steps out of his truck with one hand on the roof of his car and imagining the little boy with both hands on the wheel of his toy car watching his house collapse. then we are moved beyond this scene. we are driving on bridges over top of bodies of water absorbing the mass that is so deep underneath us it rises, this slow epic ripple of water below us. And 10 seconds later after we have contemplated the entire span of our lives on this bridge, we have moved on.
I think its because we're always moved on when on the highway that we fall asleep. We get put to sleep because our consciousness on the highway is light--travesty and beauty get the same amount of attention--soccer games, green abyss--nothing more and nothing less does each image receive of our attention than the last. All that is alive and dead in our passing, in our moving forward becomes one scene, one landscape of worlds seen and imagined and then moved on from. In this ride, this way of living, somehow there are no worries...everything will come and that same everything will go.
It always happens that the majority of the bus watches the world passing together, then eases into a dream sleep together, and rises together--once the constant hum of the road underneath has ceased and there is still the presence of things and people and lives not moving around us, when we are stopped or moving slowly.