It has been two weeks since we moved to our new home in the countryside.
I cycle to the train station every morning, & then take the train to work. Two stops to the first changeover station. Two more to my destination. Thousands of people along the way. Or is it hundreds? Never counted, but it sure seems a lot.
The journey is beautiful. Like life, I think. Chugging up a mountain. Along a riverbank. Over the river on a bridge. Alongside a fishing spot. & onto the city. With its hustle & bustle & whistle.
The passengers on the train fascinate me. Very interesting. I watch some of them. As I’m sure some of them watch me too. Nosy Rosie. Want to know everything about everything. Like me. Like them. Like most of us. Hovering under the veneer of social behaviour. Each nose appearing to be buried in his own little device. A book. An iPod. An iPhone. An iMeMyself gadget. Some reading. Some pretending. Deep in thought. Or deep in sleep. Thinking? Of the day(s) gone by? Of day(s) to come? People? Things? Money? Planes? Fear? Happiness? Childhood? Children? Parents? Who knows?
Occasionally, laughter. Fills the compartment. Like a breath of fresh air.
Fresh air also comes in when the train doors open at stations. To let people get off. Or to let people in. & soon it is not so fresh. Both, people & the air.
Some frantically typing away at their keyboards. Others deep in slumber. Faint noises from earphones. Sometimes musical. Mostly not.
On the train, I read. Books. & people. Sometimes they make sense. Mostly they don’t.
I wonder why…