Train journeys are such marvellous things, there is a touch of the ‘old-ways’ about them, even though technically they are not that old.
I went to a new train station today, it was almost walled with wild lavender. Of course something was broken and/or being fixed (as everything is these days) so my stepfather had to show me the long way round to the platform.
I get unsure if I am right when alone; it is as if all my doubts seize the moment and attack me all at once.
Seizing what little courage I had, I reaffirmed with the nearest stranger that I was in the right place to catch the right train.
Once my train arrived I did my usual thing of finding the most vacant spot I can as dealing with too many people at once leaves me tired and irritable, especially strangers.
I could see out of the train window, wild lavender following the track. How beautiful the purple and blue looked against the green and brown of the earth.
The rhythmic movement of the train makes it hard for me to write. It makes me wander how people used to live on trains like the Orient Express for months at a time; most of them being writers and artists travelling Europe, they would have been writing and drawing with the trains being more jerky in movement.