ii. the station

The train was late but she didn’t notice. She sat with her legs crossed on a cold concrete bench, her silence broken into measures by the scratch of turning pages. Clusters of others stood around, some smoking, all waiting. The dullness of the cityscape smudged their features, leaving only pale blank orbs. She looked up from time to time but did not see them. Battleship clouds collided in poor formations across the bruised sky. An icy breeze nudged straggler leaves off the platform and onto the tracks. Suddenly a piercing whistle sounded. Mutters rose up from the clumps around her. Devices were consulted. The train was not coming, an orb reported. Something had happened farther up the line. Details were scarce. With reluctance the clusters broke up and shuffled away. Soon she was alone. She closed the book and felt the cold creep through her skirt and wool tights. Leaving the platform, she descended the stairs to the street below. But there were no cabs. She felt light and the book in her hand felt like a stone. It was so quiet.

Previous Post
Next Post
Leave a comment

1 Comment

  1. A book does feel that heavy at the end of the day. Beautiful.

    Reply

Thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

  • Recent Posts

  • Navigation Station

    The links along the top of the page are rudimentary attempts at trail markers. Otherwise, see below for more search and browse options.

  • In Search of Lost Time

  • Personal Taxonomy

  • Common Ground

  • Resources

  • BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS

%d bloggers like this: