Seven hour commute

Board the train, a familiar shuffle even if at an odd AM hour and unfamiliar conductors and car companions. Even if this unwieldy cordura bag. Keep having to rehearse that I’m disembarking on an impossibly earlier stop, one that I’ve only unthinkingly glanced at from a window seat. Step off onto the platform, a few minutes of assembly, rest of the commute home a different way.

Rail trail with seniors walking briskly and smiling parents pushed running strollers and furtive young people who I wonder why they aren’t in school about. Lunch. Then country roads that were yesterday google map speculation, churches farms cemeteries like only the Northeast has, a big climb—the sign says so, Steep Incline Ahead—with a thunderstorm, obviously perfect. Then another recreational path and trail and miles and daydreams or retreat, towns seen from the inside out, from behind and unassuming, maybe it’s imagination but people seem more open to a pedaler on a folding bike with panniers with nearly normal clothing. A break sipping a coffee, a phonecall, you’re huh where?, and some answered correspondence from a bench. Stone barns, a dirt trail through a park. Then home.

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