The Station

The Station

The station was nearly empty even though it was the rush hour. Sunshine was trying to break through the mass of drifting white and grey clouds.

I looked up at the various irregular shapes and forms in the clouds.

I stared for so long that I missed my train.

I stayed there all day.

Trains emptied commuters on the platform and took up others to carry away. Sparks on the train tracks leapt up into the cold air.

When I was a child I use to like to identify birds, cats, faces, hands, moon crescents or the outline of complicated buildings.

As a child this was a game or casual indulgence.

As the song goes,

“That joke isn’t funny anymore….”

Chris Bird