I don’t miss much about my old city commute. Driving 40 minutes to the train station, cold waits on the platform. Sweating under layers while being pressed on all sides by strange shoulders. Pushing back out into the cold. Trudging eight blocks to the office. Peeling the layers off. Tugging them back on at the end of the day. Trudging eight blocks back to the platform.
But the one part I miss happens during that second wait on a platform. The faint, high pitched whistling and the gleam from the train’s headlight reflecting off the tunnel wall as it rounds the corner into the station. That always made me smile.
reaching from the dark
towards me, a ray of light
to carry me home