About an hour outside of Rome, New York, I am sitting on this slow moving train heading from Buffalo to New York City. We pass through nothing dramatic or exceptionally scenic. Melting snow covers the muddy woods, aged out factories, and small towns covered in rust. The bouncing click clack of the rails almost rocks me to sleep if I'm not careful.
For the mundane passing by, I do have some curiousities.
The other day riding the bus to work I saw a man walking down the sidewalk picking his nose. He looked right at the bus, but only saw a bus- not a tin can full of people staring back at him.
People must only see railroad tracks and trains, and don't remember the people who like to look out windows. Maybe that's why they built their houses right to the edge of the tracks. Some sort of perceived security or safety. There is nothing protected about taking a shower in your back yard when train creates the back fence. I saw that spectacle when I was on an electric train going from Zavolzh'ye to Niznhy Novgorod.
Trains get to wander through the woods in places labelled "Posted: No Trespassing: Violator's will be shot," without a single bullet heading it's way. They are lucky.
As we traverse through the forests in the middle of nowhere, I see stone walls that only man could have built. It seems that this was not always the middle of nowhere.
Orange juice and books on the seat tray to my left, there is still plenty of time for contemplation. "Miles and miles to go before we sleep," if you will. I wonder what everyone else is doing back home, where ever that is. I wonder where everyone else is going, here on this train.
For the mundane passing by, I do have some curiousities.
The other day riding the bus to work I saw a man walking down the sidewalk picking his nose. He looked right at the bus, but only saw a bus- not a tin can full of people staring back at him.
People must only see railroad tracks and trains, and don't remember the people who like to look out windows. Maybe that's why they built their houses right to the edge of the tracks. Some sort of perceived security or safety. There is nothing protected about taking a shower in your back yard when train creates the back fence. I saw that spectacle when I was on an electric train going from Zavolzh'ye to Niznhy Novgorod.
Trains get to wander through the woods in places labelled "Posted: No Trespassing: Violator's will be shot," without a single bullet heading it's way. They are lucky.
As we traverse through the forests in the middle of nowhere, I see stone walls that only man could have built. It seems that this was not always the middle of nowhere.
Orange juice and books on the seat tray to my left, there is still plenty of time for contemplation. "Miles and miles to go before we sleep," if you will. I wonder what everyone else is doing back home, where ever that is. I wonder where everyone else is going, here on this train.
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