scherzo trepan waves and the bus pulls away slowly , as befits such a vehicle , gaining speed , rolling on its black rubber tyres , turning the bend , shadowed by lesser cars and leafy trees , the latter shitting on the world , the former busy trying to catch it up , on this road or another , any of millions , determined that that world be flat , hoping for an opportunity to overtake the lumbering omni , skirting roundabouts with islands at their core , entire continents - gratifyingly level - of daffodils in spring and council workmen with lawnmowers in summer , broken bottles in autumn and the purest snow in winter , the kind of snow where only the footprints of faeries and suchlike make any indentation .