connecting

The distant midday sun shines upon the steel train tracks, their rusted stain weeping into the rubble of stone and sleepers that support them. It is still winter but the chanced break in the clouds is a pleasant reminder of warmer weather as I sit and regard my surroundings. The digital display that denotes time and destination of the next train, the plastic bin liner that now flaps in the chill breeze, and the discoloured red-brickwork that remembers the steam engine.

A piano concerto—perhaps Chopin—cracks and pips lo-fi on the station’s loudspeakers as I wait for the 12:45 city-bound. With quick careful glances and avoiding eye contact I survey my fellow commuters, their faces downward and distracted. I am caught thinking about the complex and fraught trajectories that have now entered to within five metres of my own. Stuck in transit between points, from where they were and where they would like to be, this is empty time.

It then begins to rain. Shining and sparkling it falls to earth, the sky strikes clear blue; the sound of rain hitting the asphalt platform, gravel and tracks is met as the pianist, metered to a cosmic synergy, reaches the concertos’ crescendo. A chill runs up my spine bringing with it a thought: no moment can be meaningless or vacant. Some occur with such beauty and intent that they cannot help but touch those moments surrounding them, their influence spreading far beyond the visible horizon.

I look up and see my train approaching. The rain stops and the robotic announcer’s voice washes out the music and with it my reverie. I stand and turn to the woman beside me, smiling I catch her gaze. Her face begins to brighten and although awkwardly and with cautious reservation she nods and smiles in acknowledgement. Gathering her belongings, she stands and we walk to the carriage door, catching the 12:45 city-bound together.