It doesn't matter where you go, the sun always rises in the east and sets in the west.
I am sitting in the first carriage of the train and there are six other people in here with me. It is 6:53AM on a Monday morning and I am on my way to uni. The sky is still dark and I am yet far from the city; the hills on either side of me do not fall in smooth waves because the trees create jagged lines against the morning sky. These lines have a slight glow as the sky around them is a lighter shade of blue, almost white, as the sun has begun to rise. I know that the stars are still there but I can't see them right now, their urban replacements are set amongst the concrete jungle which is slowly taking over the forest I left.
There are now eleven other people in here with me. It is 7:00AM and we are racing through a tunnel. On either side of the tunnel fluorescent lights glow at two metre intervals. It feels like I’m travelling through a wormhole and I don’t know what’s on the other side. But so little of life is certain and we are more familiar with the unknown. For who can predict a life that is lived by another or oneself, or that which is worth living? There is a sea of cars on either side of the train as people park and ready themselves for the day. A small strip of shops lies parallel to the station. A large blue sign announces that one of these is to be known as “Simplicity Funerals.” I wonder what they do to make grief easy?
Black dots move against a lightening sky. They are birds and they are not flying in formation. I notice this because they are so disorderly against the ordinary background of suburbia. The power lines dip between the power poles. From a distance they look like stitching and they are holding the sky together. How many stitches would be needed to hold together? There are now too many people in the carriage to count.
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