As the train makes its first juddering moves out of the station, I can almost begin to feel the stress of the city lift from my skin. The high-rise buildings and concrete structures turn in to fields and trees as I rest my head against the seat. The train lulling me with its steady rhythm as I gaze out of the window.
Over bridges, through tunnels, past warehouses long since abandoned, the view turns familiar and I’m hit with a sense of belonging.
There in the distance is the path we used to walk with my grandfather. Exploring deep in to the forest, looking for mushrooms and treasure. To the left is the tree that used to be painted white each Christmas and festooned with red ribbons. On the right is the river, always flowing strong and steady. The mud flats stretching their tendrils out in to the water, covered in birds.
As the train continues past small town after small town, I can feel my spirits lift. All the worries of the world have been left behind, blown apart in the wind created by the speeding train. I sigh the deep sigh of a person wholly at peace. I am going home.
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