The Train at Twilight
Riding the train through rural ontario, early morning. The sun will rise in an hour, or so.
It feels a bit like riding through a model village. The one I used to set up every Christmas, on the top the piano, in the living room: a fresh roll of cotton served as snow, with fake trees painted white, lights in the glass windows of the porcelain houses. A single lamp post, powered by a battery hidden deftly beneath the snow. Passing by the doctors office, and the grain elevator. In the twilight, it seems ideal, before the houses wake and the calm is broken.
Riding the train through rural ontario, early morning. The sun will rise in an hour, or so.
It feels a bit like riding through a model village. The one I used to set up every Christmas, on the top the piano, in the living room: a fresh roll of cotton served as snow, with fake trees painted white, lights in the glass windows of the porcelain houses. A single lamp post, powered by a battery hidden deftly beneath the snow. Passing by the doctors office, and the grain elevator. In the twilight, it seems ideal, before the houses wake and the calm is broken.
ivyarcana:
That's beautiful! I love to travel by train any chance I get. There is something about passing through the background, through areas that most people never see. It feels almost as though you are invisible, sliding silently through the inner mechanics of the city machine. It is always strangely serene. Especially at night or in the really early morning.