View from the Train

The river once wide and deep is now full of yellow weeds. Reduced to nothing more than a sluggish stream, the water has gone to feed the mostly fallow plots of land that line both side of the train tracks upon which i travel. There are no people here, just signs of recent life newly abandoned or waiting for their return.  Twilight casts shadows in the windows of the dark houses, too dark to see if some one has returned home.

A carpet of tall yellow weeds, a cherry tree in faded bloom in the middle of a small field. As we pass i wonder who will eat the Cherries?

A small shrine at the back of an old house, faded flowers adorn the vases.  The grass is long, and i wonder if anyone thinks about the dead buried here. If i pass this way again will the shrine still be there? Will it have been replaced by a shiny new apartment building? Or will i be looking the other way when we pass by and like everyone else forget to look for the long buried dead.

What i like about riding in trains is the brief glimpse into the lives of others. The backs of houses are exposed to the tracks we get to see what people hide from view, the parts they keep hidden and private.  I love these brief back lit vignettes, these stolen private moments illuminated by the train as we pass by. I'll cup my hands to the windows to see a little better in the fading light and darkness. I'll see you, just for a moment, and then you remain frozen in time forever as we pass quickly by.