Mirage

There's something about train stations..

It's larger than all of us. Something I can only touch upon, but is open and felt every heart. The combination of sounds..smells..and even sights turn into a beautiful painting, of which we are part of.

Its the smell of engine oil..slick and powerful. There's power behind that smell that makes you heady..makes you breathe harder and deeper.

There's the train itself when it pulls into the station..A mirage appearing in mist..headlights cutting swathes through the darkness of night. A powerful beast straining to slow..

Those sounds of the train itself..groaning to a stop, squealing against the tracks and the doors creaking open to let those who travel within it spill upon the pavements in euphoria.

The passengers bring with them a myriad of emotions, for stations are where lovers meet and lovers part. A place of inspiration poets have long known, and writers cherished.

Finally, we have the station itself. Its heavy dome with heavy beams..light that pools between columns, lending to the intricate mosaics on patterned floor. It is in this light that people emerge..bright, where dust motes dance and travelers seek warmth for stiff legs and stiff bones.

It is this warmth, too, that emanates from those waiting with open arms..and it is this warmth which makes the journey worthwhile.

Inspired

She Followed

They spun and hung in the twisted air
She reached to grab and take
They flew away far from her grasp
And fell upon the beating lake

The waves they pulsed up from the deep
Causing such a stir
She put her ear down to the earth
And felt her own heart purr

The music seethed between her legs
Allaying all her fears
She sunk into its deep embrace
And was lost amongst the tears

They speak of her, yet to this day
The girl who walked away
She was but chasing music notes
When dancing with the fey.

Thank you for the inspiration.