Musings

The weekend retreat is over. It was nice to get away from the construction site that Poznan had become. Anywhere I looked debris, detours and warning signs. Dust settling while I fall asleep to jackhammers banging 60 feet away from my windows. Unfortunately home disappointed me in one respect. I was expecting wafts of smoke from burning stubble to permeate the air, mixing with the redolence of a cold early spring night, and found none. On one hand it’s nice that they seem to have finally learned something and stopped burning everything to scorched earth. On the other, that particular smell was something I always associated with the vernal transition.
On the way I witnessed some extraordinary crepuscular rays, burning through the fog coiling through the forests and fields at daybreak. As is always the case, I hadn't brought my camera with me. Murphy's Law in its ugly flesh. Right now, coming back, on a train passing through all these small towns and villages the names of which I always forget it seems I found it in me to write a few lines. I always liked that particular sense of separation from reality while on a train. Sure, when you have to get somewhere on time, trains are usually an utter clustercoitus. However when traveling at one’s leisure, just enjoying the view out the window zooming, alright, crawling by, there's this sense that the outside rules are somehow suspended, nonexistent for the moment. That will, obviously, come back and bite me. But for now, I’m just being carried by the flow and let myself drift along with it. It’s a nice feeling and I’m surprised at myself how I’ve missed it.