Avenue home

The train, gliding like a boat on water across the straight, smooth rails of the tracks. Past the window, trees and gullies and flat lands slip past at an easy pace. A mild pace. A realisation that the constant, steady motion makes thinking easy. More accessible.

I've been thinking, concept after concept and epiphany after epiphany, all night. Like the trees passing by on a forward stretching land. In the midst of the motion, a dream like a train station broke the flow. But, like the station from my window - it was a distant, far away dream. As if it had only partially arrived.

I have no recollection of the dream's meaning. Only that there was a blonde woman in it with bobbed hair. She might have been guiding something, but I'm not even remotely certain. The only benefit the dream served was that I slept at all. The way another station marks the progress of the train, if only in a far away and partial sort of way.

The way a lone standing tree marks the motion of the car in which I sit. Despite the fact that I might never know where in reality the tree actually is.