It’s officially been spring since the beginning of this month. This morning I found my nasturtium flowering. They are my earliest memory of flowers as we had an entire flower bed in Delhi.
I do most of my reading on the train. It is therefore rare that I observe anything at all of my surroundings though there is little as pleasurable as watching landscapes go by. These glimpses from a train are momentary and yet whole worlds in themselves. Of course the daily commute has a repetitive nature which is why everything that passes is commonplace. Today I didn’t feel like reading a book and the train was blissfully empty so I decided to sit by the window and idly watch the world between home and workplace. Not that at the latish hour of my ride much was stirring. The backyards of the innumerable houses that make up Sydney suburbia lay still. Some completely manicured, others more straggly, many with forlorn Hills Hoists. The sun-lit stations, some with old fashioned fixtures, had few people. Cooks River glinted in the sun, the grasses alongside were blonde and tall. I thought, as I have often, that I needed to come one weekend and take a walk in the adjacent park. Near the city, dense habitation. Atop an old factory what looked like the rusted sculpture of a skeleton with cape. It passed by so quickly that I wasn’t sure I had seen what I had seen. Then into the tunnel, the passengers in my train and those alongside the last of the stragglers arriving for work.
I do most of my reading on the train. It is therefore rare that I observe anything at all of my surroundings though there is little as pleasurable as watching landscapes go by. These glimpses from a train are momentary and yet whole worlds in themselves. Of course the daily commute has a repetitive nature which is why everything that passes is commonplace. Today I didn’t feel like reading a book and the train was blissfully empty so I decided to sit by the window and idly watch the world between home and workplace. Not that at the latish hour of my ride much was stirring. The backyards of the innumerable houses that make up Sydney suburbia lay still. Some completely manicured, others more straggly, many with forlorn Hills Hoists. The sun-lit stations, some with old fashioned fixtures, had few people. Cooks River glinted in the sun, the grasses alongside were blonde and tall. I thought, as I have often, that I needed to come one weekend and take a walk in the adjacent park. Near the city, dense habitation. Atop an old factory what looked like the rusted sculpture of a skeleton with cape. It passed by so quickly that I wasn’t sure I had seen what I had seen. Then into the tunnel, the passengers in my train and those alongside the last of the stragglers arriving for work.
Before starting work a quick check of the papers online. Amused that Aussies are doing their darned best to retain their right to cock a snook at authority.
nice!!i loved the description!!its sort of like my train journey every morning...though the views i get to see are slightly different!;-)
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