Speaker 1: You train through autumn countryside. This is a long journey.
Speaker 1: We'll spend some time on a peaceful train ride through
Speaker 1: beautiful autumn landscapes. There's no destination we need to reach,
Speaker 1: no schedule to keep, just the gentle rhythm of the train,
Speaker 1: the changing views outside the window, and all the time
Speaker 1: in the world to simply be get comfortable, very comfortable.
Speaker 1: You won't need to move for a while. Close your
Speaker 1: eyes if you'd like, take a deep breath in, hold
Speaker 1: it gently, and let it out slowly. Let's begin. It's
Speaker 1: a Wednesday morning in mid October and you're standing on
Speaker 1: a small railway platform in the countryside. The platform is simple,
Speaker 1: just a strip of weathered concrete with a wooden shelter
Speaker 1: at one end and a bench. That's I've seen many
Speaker 1: years of travelers waiting just as you're waiting now. The
Speaker 1: morning is cool and clear. The air has that particular
Speaker 1: quality of autumn mornings, crisp without being cold, fresh without
Speaker 1: being harsh. You can see your breath just barely when
Speaker 1: you exhale, but it's not uncomfortable. You're wearing layers, a
Speaker 1: soft sweater under a jacket, and you feel perfectly warm.
Speaker 1: The platform is quiet. There are only two other people waiting,
Speaker 1: an elderly man reading a newspaper at the fore end,
Speaker 1: and a middle aged woman with a worn leader bag
Speaker 1: sitting on the bench. No one is talking. There's no
Speaker 1: need for conversation. Everyone here understands that this early morning
Speaker 1: hour is for quiet. You can hear birds in the
Speaker 1: trees beyond the platform, the liquid song of a robin,
Speaker 1: the chattering of sparrows, the distant core of a crow.
Speaker 1: You can hear the rustle of leaves in the slight breeze.
Speaker 1: Autumn leaves mostly fallen, now skittering across the platform with
Speaker 1: a papery whisper. The trees surrounding the platform are in
Speaker 1: full autumn color. There are oaks with leaves gorne, bronze
Speaker 1: and rust. There are maples in shades of orange and
Speaker 1: red and yellow, some so bright they almost seem to
Speaker 1: glow in the morning sun. There are birches with leaves
Speaker 1: like scattered gold coins, trembling in the breeze. You've been
Speaker 1: looking forward to this for weeks, a day long train
Speaker 1: journey through the countryside, taking the old scenic root that
Speaker 1: the force trains don't use anymore, the slow train, the
Speaker 1: local train, the train that stops at every small station,
Speaker 1: that winds through valleys and are long river, that takes
Speaker 1: its time because time is all it has. You have
Speaker 1: no particular destination. You bought a day pourse that allows
Speaker 1: you to ride as long as you want, get off
Speaker 1: where you like, get back on the next train, but
Speaker 1: you think you'll probably stay on for the whole route.
Speaker 1: Eight hours of gentle travel through autumn landscapes, eight hours
Speaker 1: of watching the world go by, eight hours of peaceful,
Speaker 1: meditative movement. In your bag, you have a book, though
Speaker 1: you suspect you won't read much. You have a bottle
Speaker 1: of water and some simple food as sad which an
Speaker 1: apple some natist. You have a notebook, though you don't
Speaker 1: know what you might write. Mostly you have time, unscheduled, unstructured,
Speaker 1: open time. You hear the train before you see it,
Speaker 1: a distant rumble, the faint clank of wheels on rails.
Speaker 1: Then it comes into view around the bend, moving slowly, unhurried.
Speaker 1: It's an older train, not sleek or modern, but solid
Speaker 1: and reliable and somehow comforting in its old fashioned design.
Speaker 1: The train pulls into the station with a gentle squeal
Speaker 1: of brakes and comes to a stop with a sigh,
Speaker 1: as if settling in after a long journey. The doors
Speaker 1: open with a hydraulic hiss. You board, climbing the few
Speaker 1: steps into the carriage. Inside, it's warm and smells faintly
Speaker 1: off older wholstery and metal, and something like lemon cleaning solution.
Speaker 1: The carriage is about off full, a dozen people scattered
Speaker 1: among the rows of seats, most of them sitting alone,
Speaker 1: looking out windows or reading, or simply staring into space.
Speaker 1: You choose a window seat about halfway down the carriage
Speaker 1: on the right side. You stow your back on the
Speaker 1: overhead rack and settle into your seat. The seat is comfortable,
Speaker 1: worn but well patted, upholstered in a faded blue fabric.
Speaker 1: The window is large and clean, offering a perfect view
Speaker 1: of the world outside. The doors close, there's a gentle lurge,
Speaker 1: and the train begins to move. At first, you are
Speaker 1: still among buildings, the small station, a few houses, a
Speaker 1: road running parallel to the tracks, But within minutes the
Speaker 1: buildings fall away and you're in open countryside. The train
Speaker 1: moves slowly, much slower than a gore would move on
Speaker 1: a highway, slow enough that you can see everything. Every tree,
Speaker 1: every fence post, every bird in the fields. Slow enough
Speaker 1: that the movement feels gentle, rocking, almost soothing. The rhythm
Speaker 1: of the train is hypnotic, the steady cluck clap of
Speaker 1: wheels on rails, the occasional sway and rock as the
Speaker 1: train rounds a curve. The vibration that you can feel
Speaker 1: through your seat, through your whole body, not unpleasant, just
Speaker 1: present a reminder that you're moving, traveling, going somewhere, even
Speaker 1: though the destination doesn't matter. The landscape outside your window
Speaker 1: is beautiful in that particular way of autumn countryside. Everything
Speaker 1: is touched with gold. The fields are golden with harvested
Speaker 1: grain stubble, The trees are golden with turning leaves. Even
Speaker 1: the gross seems to have a golden course to it.
Speaker 1: In the morning sunlight, you posse a field of cows,
Speaker 1: brown and white dairy cows, grazing peacefully. A few of
Speaker 1: them look up as the train passes, mild curiosity in
Speaker 1: their large dog eyes, but most ignore the train entirely.
Speaker 1: They've seen trains before. Trains are just poured off the landscape,
Speaker 1: just another element of their wall. Beyond the cows, you
Speaker 1: see a farmhouse, an old stone building with a slate
Speaker 1: roof and smoke rising from its chimney. There's a garden
Speaker 1: beside it, mostly done for the season now, but you
Speaker 1: can see the meat rows where vegetables grew, and the
Speaker 1: tall brown stalks of what were probably sunflowers. There's washing
Speaker 1: hanging on a line, white sheets and towels moving gently
Speaker 1: in the breeze. You wonder about the people who live there.
Speaker 1: What are they doing this Wednesday morning, making breakfast perhaps,
Speaker 1: or sitting at a kitchen table with tea, or out
Speaker 1: doing chores in the barn. You'll never know. You're just
Speaker 1: pausing through a temperary observer of their landscape. The train
Speaker 1: follows a river. Now you can see it through the
Speaker 1: trees to your left, a broad, shallow river moving slowly
Speaker 1: over stones. The water touches the sunlight and throws it
Speaker 1: back in flashes of brightness. The river banks are lined
Speaker 1: with willows, their long trailing branches yellow gold and swaying.
Speaker 1: You see a heron standing in the shallows, a gray heron,
Speaker 1: perfectly still waiting for fish. The train pauses, and the
Speaker 1: heron doesn't move. It's a statue, a piece of the landscape,
Speaker 1: patient and eternal, The carriage is warm and quiet. You
Speaker 1: can hear the train sounds, the wheels, the occasional creek
Speaker 1: of the carriage, the low hum of the heating system.
Speaker 1: You can hear a few quiet conversations from other passengers,
Speaker 1: but the voices are low and don't intrude. Mostly there's
Speaker 1: just the train, the movement, the pausing view. You settle
Speaker 1: deeper into your seat, feeling your body relaxed completely. Your
Speaker 1: shoulders drop, your jaw unclenches, your breathing slows and deepens.
Speaker 1: There's nothing you need to do, nothing you need to
Speaker 1: think about, just this, sitting, watching, being carried gently through
Speaker 1: the world. The landscape changes gradually. The river curves away,
Speaker 1: and you're moving through woodland. Now. The trees press close
Speaker 1: on both sides of the track, forming a tunnel of
Speaker 1: autumn color. Overhead, the light filtering through the leaves is
Speaker 1: golden and dappled, creating patterns that move and shift as
Speaker 1: the train passes beneath. It's like traveling through a kaleidoscope
Speaker 1: of autumn red leaves, orange leaves, yellow leaves, brown leaves.
Speaker 1: Some trees still holding onto most of their foliage, others
Speaker 1: already bare their branches, stalk and beautiful against the blue sky.
Speaker 1: The fallen leaves corporate the ground in thick layers, and
Speaker 1: when the breeze catches them, they swirl up in little
Speaker 1: spirals and eddies. You pause a small clearing where someone
Speaker 1: has stacked firewood neat cords of split logs, ready for winter.
Speaker 1: The sight is somehow reassuring someone has prepared, someone is
Speaker 1: ready for the cold months ahead. There's comfort in that
Speaker 1: the train emerges from the woodland into more open country.
Speaker 1: Now you're passing through rolling hills, gentle slopes covered in
Speaker 1: grass that's gorne, golden brown. There are sheeps scattered across
Speaker 1: the hills, white dots again the gold. They're grazing, moving slowly, peacefully,
Speaker 1: their wooly bodies fat and healthy as they prepare for winter.
Speaker 1: A stone wall runs along one hillside, an ancient wall,
Speaker 1: built stone by stone by hand, probably centuries ago. It
Speaker 1: follows the contours of the land, rising and falling, dividing
Speaker 1: one field from another. Moss grows on the stones, small
Speaker 1: plants have taken root in the crevices between them. The
Speaker 1: wall is falling down in places, but mostly it still stands,
Speaker 1: still doing its job, after all these years. The train
Speaker 1: comes to a station, a small country station, even quieter
Speaker 1: than the one where you boarded. The platform is empty
Speaker 1: except for a single bench and a hanging basket of
Speaker 1: late season flowers. Petunias you think, still blooming purple and
Speaker 1: pink despite the autumn shell. The train stops, The doors open,
Speaker 1: no one gets on, no one gets off. After a minute,
Speaker 1: the doors close again, and the train moves on. It
Speaker 1: seems almost comical they stop at an empty station, but
Speaker 1: it's also somehow perfect. The train stops because it's supposed
Speaker 1: to stop. The schedule says to stop here, so it stops.
Speaker 1: Whether anyone is waiting or not. Is beside a point
Speaker 1: you're climbing now. The train is working harder, the sound
Speaker 1: of the engine more pronounced. You're heading in the hills,
Speaker 1: real hills, the landscape becoming more dramatic. The trees here
Speaker 1: are different, more corniferous, mixed with that deciduous trees, dark
Speaker 1: green pines and firs standing among the gold and red
Speaker 1: of maples and oaks. Through gaps in the trees, you
Speaker 1: catch glimpses of views, valleys stretching out below other hills.
Speaker 1: In the distance, a patchwork of fields and woodland and
Speaker 1: the silver thread of a river winding through it all.
Speaker 1: The train rounds a long curve, and suddenly there's a
Speaker 1: view that makes you catch your breath. A lake spread
Speaker 1: out below in a valley, its surface perfectly still and
Speaker 1: mirror like, reflecting the sky and the hills and the
Speaker 1: autumn colors. The lake is large, maybe a mile across,
Speaker 1: and so still that it looks like glaws. There's a
Speaker 1: small island in the middle of the lake, crowned with
Speaker 1: trees that are bright yellow. The reflection of the island
Speaker 1: in the water is so perfect that you can barely
Speaker 1: tell which is real and which is a reflection. It's
Speaker 1: like looking at a painting, like something too beautiful to
Speaker 1: be real, and yet there it is completely real, completely natural.
Speaker 1: The train follows the shore of the lake for several minutes,
Speaker 1: and you press close to the window, not wanting to
Speaker 1: miss a moment of this view. You see a few
Speaker 1: houses along the shore, set back among the trees. You
Speaker 1: see a small dog with a rowboat tied to it.
Speaker 1: You see ducks paddling near the reeds at the lake's edge,
Speaker 1: and then the trees closer in again, and the lake
Speaker 1: disappears behind you. Already becoming a memory, something you saw
Speaker 1: and will carry with you. The train levels out now,
Speaker 1: following a valley floor. There's a village here, the first
Speaker 1: real village you've passed through. The train slows as it
Speaker 1: approaches the station. The village is picturesque in that way
Speaker 1: that English countryside villages often are stone cottages with slate roofs,
Speaker 1: a church with a square tower above with a hanging sign,
Speaker 1: a village green with a warm memorial, and some old trees.
Speaker 1: The train stops at the station, and this time people
Speaker 1: do get off. Three or four passengers gather their things
Speaker 1: and descend to the platform. You watch them go, wondering
Speaker 1: what brings them to this particular village. On this particular
Speaker 1: Wednesday morning, a couple of new passengers get on, an
Speaker 1: elderly couple, moving slowly, helping each other up the steps.
Speaker 1: They settle into seats across the aisle from you. The
Speaker 1: man takes the window seat and the woman sits beside him.
Speaker 1: They don't speak, but the man reaches over and takes
Speaker 1: the woman's hand, and they sit like that, hans clasped,
Speaker 1: looking out the window together. There's something deeply touching about
Speaker 1: this simple gesture. How long have they been together fifty
Speaker 1: years sixty? They move with the ease of long companionship,
Speaker 1: each knowing what the other needs without words. And here
Speaker 1: they are taking a train ride together on a Wednesday morning,
Speaker 1: still finding small pleasures to share. After all these, the
Speaker 1: train moves on, leaving the village behind. The landscape opens
Speaker 1: up again, more fields, more gentle heels, more of that
Speaker 1: endless autumn gold. You realize you're hungry, so you reach
Speaker 1: up to the overhead rag and retrieve your bag. You
Speaker 1: pull out the sandwich you packed, simple cheese and tomato
Speaker 1: on brown bread. You unwrap it, slowly, taking your time.
Speaker 1: The first bite tastes wonderful. The bread is fresh and
Speaker 1: slightly chewy, the cheese is sharp, the tomato is ripe
Speaker 1: and juicy. You eat slowly, savoring each bite, washing it
Speaker 1: down with SIPs of water from your bottle. Eating on
Speaker 1: a train has its own particular pleasure. The gentle movement
Speaker 1: somehow makes everything taste better. Or perhaps it's just the
Speaker 1: lack of rush, the fact that you can take as
Speaker 1: long as you want, that there's nowhere you need to
Speaker 1: be and nothing you need to do except sit here
Speaker 1: and eat and watch the world go by. When you
Speaker 1: finish your sandwich, you eat the apple you packed. It's
Speaker 1: a good apple, crisp and sweet and torn all at once.
Speaker 1: The sound of biting into it is loud in the
Speaker 1: quiet carriage, but no one seems to mind. You eat
Speaker 1: it down to the core. Didn't wrap the core in
Speaker 1: your sandwich wrapper to dispose of later. You feel satisfied,
Speaker 1: content fit and warm and comfortable, with hours of journey
Speaker 1: still ahead of you. The train is following another river,
Speaker 1: now a different river, smaller and faster than the first one.
Speaker 1: This river tumbles over rocks, creating white water in places
Speaker 1: rushing and energetic. The bunks are steep and lined with
Speaker 1: trees that lean out over the water, their branches nearly
Speaker 1: touching the surface. You see a fisherman standing in the river,
Speaker 1: wearing waders that come up to his chest, a fishing
Speaker 1: rod in his hands, perfectly still as he watches his line.
Speaker 1: He doesn't look up as the train passes. He's absorbed
Speaker 1: in his own quiet activity, in his own relationship with
Speaker 1: the water and the fish and the autumn morning. The
Speaker 1: train climbs again, switchbacking up the side of a valley,
Speaker 1: the river falling away below the track. Here clings to
Speaker 1: the hillside with a slope rising steeply on one side
Speaker 1: and dropping away on the other. The views are spectacular.
Speaker 1: You can see four miles layer of the layer of
Speaker 1: hills fading into blue distance. At the top of the climb,
Speaker 1: the train passes through a short tunnel, thirty seconds of darkness,
Speaker 1: broken only by the lights inside the carriage, and then
Speaker 1: you emerge into sunlight again, the brightness momentarily dazzling. You're
Speaker 1: on a high plateau. Now. The landscape different here, more exposed,
Speaker 1: more windswept. The trees are smaller, bent by prevailing winds.
Speaker 1: The grass is shorter, tougher. There are stone walls everywhere,
Speaker 1: dividing the plateau into a complex pattern of fields. You
Speaker 1: pause a flock of sheep being moved by a farmer
Speaker 1: and his dog. The dog, a Border Collie, black and
Speaker 1: white and low to the ground, works with intense concentration,
Speaker 1: running back and forth, keeping the sheep. The sheep bunched together,
Speaker 1: responding to whistles from the former that you can't hear
Speaker 1: over the sound of the train. The sheep flowed like water,
Speaker 1: moving as one organism, the dog guiding them with some
Speaker 1: invisible force. It's beautiful to watch, this ancient partnership between
Speaker 1: human and dog and sheep, This scene that has probably
Speaker 1: played out on this plateau for hundreds of years. Another station,
Speaker 1: this one is slightly larger, with a small building, a
Speaker 1: waiting room perhaps, or what used to be a ticket office.
Speaker 1: The platform has planted with late seasoned flowers still blooming,
Speaker 1: marigolds and asters in orange and purple. Several passengers get
Speaker 1: off here. More get on, including a young woman with
Speaker 1: a baby in a carrier on her chest. The baby
Speaker 1: is sleeping, its small head nestled against its mother's chest,
Speaker 1: tiny fist skurled. The young woman sits down carefully, trying
Speaker 1: not to wake the baby, and settles in by a window,
Speaker 1: one hand resting protectively on the baby's back. The train
Speaker 1: moves on. You're descending, now, dropping down off the plateau
Speaker 1: into another valley. The track winds back and forth, following
Speaker 1: the contours of the land, taking it slow and easy.
Speaker 1: Through the window, you catch glimpses of where you've been,
Speaker 1: the high plateau behind you, the track you traveled visible
Speaker 1: as a thin line cutting across the hillside the valley.
Speaker 1: Your entering is broader than the others, more settled, There
Speaker 1: are more farms here, more houses, more signs of human activity.
Speaker 1: But it's still rural, still peaceful, still beautiful in its
Speaker 1: autumn colors. You pass orchards, apple orchards, mostly the trees
Speaker 1: still bearing fruit. Some of the apples have already been harvested,
Speaker 1: but many still hang on the branches, red and green
Speaker 1: and yellow. There are wooden boxes stacked beside the trees,
Speaker 1: ready to be filled. In one orchard, you can see
Speaker 1: people working tiny figures among the trees, peaking apples on
Speaker 1: this perfect autumn day. The train follows a canal for
Speaker 1: a while, a narrow canal with a tow puff beside it.
Speaker 1: The water is green and still reflecting the sky. There's
Speaker 1: a narrow boat moored along the bank, a traditional boat
Speaker 1: painted in bright colors, with flowers in pots on its roof.
Speaker 1: Smoke rises from its chimney. Someone lives there. You realize
Speaker 1: someone has made that boat their home, and they wake
Speaker 1: up each morning to this view of the canal and
Speaker 1: the trees and the autumn countryside. You're feeling drowsy now.
Speaker 1: The warmth of the carriage, the gentle rocking of the train,
Speaker 1: the hypnotic rhythm of the wheels, the full belly from
Speaker 1: your sandwich and apple. It all combines to make your
Speaker 1: eyelids heavy. You don't fight it. You let your eyes close,
Speaker 1: let your head rest against the window, let yourself drift.
Speaker 1: You're not quite asleep, but not quite awake either. You're
Speaker 1: in that peaceful in state where the world becomes soft
Speaker 1: and dream like. You can still hear the train, still
Speaker 1: feel its movement, but it's distant, gentle like ella lull by.
Speaker 1: Time passes, you're not sure how much. Ten minutes twenty,
Speaker 1: When you open your eyes again, the landscape has changed.
Speaker 1: You're in woodland again, deep forest. This time. The tree
Speaker 1: is thick and close. The light filtering through is green
Speaker 1: and golden, giving everything an underwater quality. The train is
Speaker 1: moving very slowly here, barely faster than walking pace. The
Speaker 1: track must be old, must need repair, So the train
Speaker 1: takes it easy, careful and gentle. But that's fine. There's
Speaker 1: no rush. There's nowhere. You need to be up straight
Speaker 1: and look around the courage. Some passengers have changed, a
Speaker 1: few have gotten off at stations you didn't really notice.
Speaker 1: Others have gotten on, But the atmosphere is the same, quiet, peaceful,
Speaker 1: everyone absorbed in their own thoughts their own quiet journey.
Speaker 1: The elderly couple across the aisle are still holding hands.
Speaker 1: The woman has fallen asleep, her head on the man's shoulder.
Speaker 1: The man is still looking out the window, but gently
Speaker 1: so as not to disturb his wife. His expression is content, peaceful.
Speaker 1: This is a good day for him, you think, a
Speaker 1: simple day, but a good one. The young woman with
Speaker 1: the baby is reading a book, one handed, the other
Speaker 1: hand still resting on the baby's back. The baby is
Speaker 1: still sleeping, its small chest rising and falling with perfect,
Speaker 1: peaceful breaths. You check your watch and are surprise to
Speaker 1: see that you've been traveling for four hours. Already four hours,
Speaker 1: and yet it feels like barely any time at all.
Speaker 1: Time moves differently on this strain. It stretches out, becomes elastic,
Speaker 1: becomes irrelevant. The train emerges from the forest into farmland again.
Speaker 1: The afternoon sun is lower now, the light taking on
Speaker 1: that particular golden quality of autumn afternoons. Everything glows. The
Speaker 1: fields glow, the trees glow. Even the dust motes in
Speaker 1: the air inside the carriage seem to glow in the
Speaker 1: shaves of sunlight coming through the windows. You pause a
Speaker 1: small church standing alone in a field, an old stone
Speaker 1: church with a grave yard around it. The gravestones are old, lean,
Speaker 1: leaning at various angles, covered in moss and licor. The
Speaker 1: church looks abandoned, but somehow not sad, just peaceful, just resting,
Speaker 1: just being. More villages, more small stations, more gentle climbs
Speaker 1: and descends. The train winds through the landscape like a
Speaker 1: thread being drawn through fabric, connecting places, connecting people, connecting moments.
Speaker 1: You eat your nuts, taking them one at a time,
Speaker 1: making them lost their good nuts. Almonds and cashews and walnuts,
Speaker 1: lightly salted. Each one is a small burst of flavor
Speaker 1: and texture. You drink more water. You feel completely content.
Speaker 1: The sun is getting lower. It must be late afternoon now,
Speaker 1: maybe four of five o'clock. The light is rich and warm,
Speaker 1: painting everything in shades of gold and amber and honey.
Speaker 1: The shadows are long, stretching across fields and roads and houses.
Speaker 1: You pause a farm where someone is bringing cattle in
Speaker 1: for evening milking. The cows walk in a long line,
Speaker 1: following the path they know by a hoard heading toward
Speaker 1: the barn. A dog runs alongside them, not really needed,
Speaker 1: but enjoying the activity. Anyway, tail wagging, tongue lolling. The
Speaker 1: train slows and stops at another station. This one is
Speaker 1: slightly larger, a junction where another line branches off. There's
Speaker 1: a cafe on the platform, a small refreshment room with
Speaker 1: windows glowing warmly in the afternoon light. Several passengers get off,
Speaker 1: and quite a few kits on. The carriage fills up
Speaker 1: a bit more a group of teenage boards, laughing and chatting,
Speaker 1: full of energy. They settle into seats near the back
Speaker 1: of the carriage, their voices loud at first, but gradually softening,
Speaker 1: adapting to the quiet atmosphere of the train. The train
Speaker 1: moves on. The light continues to change, becoming softer, more diffuse.
Speaker 1: You're aware that the journey will end eventually, that you'll
Speaker 1: have to get off at some point, return to your
Speaker 1: regular life, but not yet, not for a while yet.
Speaker 1: The landscape is heillier again, the train working harder to climb.
Speaker 1: You're heading into what must be the final stretch of
Speaker 1: the route, the last range of hills before the destination.
Speaker 1: Through the window, you can see spectacular views now, the
Speaker 1: sun low on the horizon, the sky beginning to show
Speaker 1: colors of sunset, pink and orange and purple are storing
Speaker 1: to bleed into the blue. The clouds catch the light
Speaker 1: and glow like ambush. The train crests a hill, and
Speaker 1: suddenly you can see the destination town in the distance,
Speaker 1: a spread of buildings in a valley. Lights beginning to
Speaker 1: come on as evening approaches. You'll be there in maybe
Speaker 1: twenty minutes. You feel a small pang of regret. You
Speaker 1: don't want this journey to end. You want to stay
Speaker 1: on this train forever, moving gently through the world, watching
Speaker 1: and observing and being at peace. But all journeys end.
Speaker 1: That's the nature of journeys. The train begins it's descind
Speaker 1: toward the town. The landscape becomes more populated, more houses,
Speaker 1: more roads, more signs of civilization. The wild autumn countryside
Speaker 1: gradually gives way to suburbs, to gardens, to streets. The
Speaker 1: light is fading now evening settling in the sky is
Speaker 1: a deep blue in the east, still showing color. In
Speaker 1: the west, where the sun has just set, street lights
Speaker 1: are coming on. House windows glow yellow and warm. The
Speaker 1: train slows as it enters the town proper. You pass
Speaker 1: through residential areas, industrial areas, pass parks, and schools and shops,
Speaker 1: and then you're pulling into the station, a proper station,
Speaker 1: this time, with multiple platforms and a large Victorian building
Speaker 1: and people hurrying about with luggage and purpose. The train
Speaker 1: comes to a final stop with a sigh and a
Speaker 1: slight jolt. The doors open around you. Passengers begin to
Speaker 1: gather their belongings, standing up, stretching, preparing to disembarg You
Speaker 1: stand two, reaching up for your bag, but you take
Speaker 1: your time. The elderly couple across the aisle are moving slowly, carefully.
Speaker 1: The man helps his wife to her feet and they
Speaker 1: shuffle toward the door together, still holding hands. The young
Speaker 1: woman with the baby is trying to juggle her book
Speaker 1: and her back while keeping the baby secure. You smile
Speaker 1: at her, and she smiles back, a tired but genuine smile.
Speaker 1: You follow the flow of passengers off the train down
Speaker 1: onto the platform. The evening air is cool on your
Speaker 1: face after the warmth of the carriage. You can here
Speaker 1: the sounds of the station, announcements, conversations, the rumble of
Speaker 1: other trains. You stand on the platform for a moment,
Speaker 1: not quite ready to leave yet. The train sets at
Speaker 1: the platform. It's engine ticking as it cools as if
Speaker 1: it too is tired. After the long day's journey. You
Speaker 1: think about the journey you just took, the eight hours
Speaker 1: of gentle travel, the landscapes you saw, the villages and forms,
Speaker 1: and rivers and hills, the people who shared the carriage
Speaker 1: with you, each on their own journey, each with their
Speaker 1: own stories. It was a day out of time, a
Speaker 1: day of peace and observation and gentle movement, a day
Speaker 1: of simply being, without a gender, purpose, or gold. You
Speaker 1: take a deep breath of the evening air. You feel calm, rested, centered.
Speaker 1: The world seems slower, kinder, more beautiful than it did
Speaker 1: this morning. Eventually you turn and walk toward the station exit,
Speaker 1: but you carry the journey with you. You carry the
Speaker 1: piece of it, the quiet of it, the gentle rhythm
Speaker 1: of wheels on rails and changing views and autumn light.
Speaker 1: And you know that when ever life gets too false,
Speaker 1: too loud, to the monding, you can come back to
Speaker 1: this memory. You can close your eyes and be back
Speaker 1: on that train, watching the world go by, moving gently
Speaker 1: through golden countryside, with nowhere you need to be and
Speaker 1: nothing you need to do except look and breathe and
Speaker 1: be at peace. The journey may have ended, but the
Speaker 1: peace remains. Thank you for taking this long, slow journey
Speaker 1: through the autumn countryside with me. I hope you carry
Speaker 1: some of that peaceful movement with you into your sleep.
Speaker 1: The train has reached its destination, and so have you,
Speaker 1: the destination of rest, of peace, of deep, restorative sleep.
Speaker 1: Sweet dreams, and I'll see you in the next story.