Train Windows

For the first time in about a month I caught a train this morning without the prospect of being Hayleyed at the station after mine. Though I do enjoy her company, and look forward to seeing her and chatting all the way to uni, I also admit that I miss catching the train alone.

By nature I am somewhat of a dreamer, and standing alone on a train with a window by my side feeds my imagination with visions of azure skies and indigo lakes, silver streams and jet black crows. The music that plays in my ears only intensifies this experience, blocking out all the waffle and chatter of the people around me, the sound of book pages being turned, the clatter of the train as it switches lines.

I especially love those days when it's raining; when I say raining I'm not talking about light drizzle, I mean full-on rain, the kind that come plummeting to earth and shatter on concrete, the kind that is usually accompanied by the clash of thunder and the flourish of lightning in all its theatrical melodrama. Days with rain like that make me so nostalgic, especially about one day in particular; memories of running to the bus stop, getting soaked in the process, a ride home in wet clothes, and then the first shower we ever shared when a shower is needed just to warm you up. Memories like that day make me realise that I could never live in a country where it seldom rains.

This morning, when stood at the station, I saw a robin swoop onto the tracks, stand on them for a moment and then seize a small insect and fly back to the platform. I also noticed at least three other people, all with smiles on their faces, watching the bird go about his business. It still surprises me sometimes how much we see when we really look. The world is such a wondrous place, and I'm glad to live in it; with all it's rain, music, imagination, hostility and magnificence.