Railway days

I have grown used to the sound of trains as they pass by at the bottom of my garden.  The sound was alien when I first arrived, and I felt convinced I would never overcome the regular disturbance, day and night.  Today, it is there, and I live alongside it, rather than battling against it.  At night, I barely notice the trains, and during the day, I find them somehow comforting, reminders that time is passing by, confirmation of that eternal truth that nothing stands still. 

 

Travelling by train is something of a rare pleasure these days.  In recent months, I have, it feels, travelled the length and breadth of the country.  I do not have any such adventures on the horizon, but recall feeling aware of a definite sense of calm whilst in transit on the railways recently.  Train journeys are now, spaces to simply be.  In terms of getting from A to B, there is nothing much for me, as a passenger, to do, and nowhere for me to go.  As such, it is time spent sitting still.  And going with...

 

Physically, and energetically, my recent journeys by train have been rejuvenating.  Time and space, to sit and be.  Resigning to the journey, surrendering and letting go.  I have enjoyed what they represent as a complete contrast to driving.   

 

 

"I travel not to go anywhere, but to go.  I travel for travel's sake.  The great affair is to move."

Robert Louis Stevenson

 

 

"That Whitsun, I was late getting away:
Not till about
One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday
Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out,
All windows down, all cushions hot, all sense
Of being in a hurry gone. We ran
Behind the backs of houses, crossed a street
Of blinding windscreens, smelt the fish-dock; thence
The river's level drifting breadth began,
Where sky and Lincolnshire and water meet."

 

Extract taken from The Whitsun Weddings

by Philip Larkin