Spring is most certainly in the air. Having woken up at a godforsaken hour this morning in order to get myself to work by seven, I can’t help but be thankful I’m not leaving home in the dark. There’s a slight nip in the air but nothing close to the last few months. While the sun hasn’t risen as yet, dawn has broken.
Catching the train at six in the morning has its perks. Fewer people is one of them. The usually packed train has breathing space today. The commuters though, are still the same. There are the office-goers dressed in suits and reading the newspaper. You can tell a lot about a person if they read The Daily Telegraph as opposed to the Sydney Morning Herald. Then again, that could just be my judgemental view. I can see some uni students with headphones stuck in their ears and textbooks in their hands. It brings back memories to my university days; except I always studied dead into the night. Then there are other early morning workers; some staring hard into their phones swiping as they do, others reading a book or two and still others, fast asleep. It is early, after all.
One of the beauties of catching public transport is the opportunity to watch people. To see how they interact with others and the world around them. Headphones shut people out. I’m not a fan of that. I like connection. I like exchanging smiles with a random stranger or even making eye contact. I like that someone can ask me something as mundane as when the next bus is expected. I like that we can communicate. Of course, usually while sitting on the train, there’s hardly any communication and connection.
Just last week, I sat next to a woman. She was colouring in while I was reading. A little further into our journey, she pulled out a packet of tissues and offered me a couple; I hadn’t realised how much I was sniffling that morning. Gratefully, I took a couple and in that moment, we communicated. More than I do most mornings. Spring certainly is in the air.
Occasionally, I glance out the window. The green trees that line most of my journey are always a welcome sight. With the advent of spring, it seems greener, with multitude of flowers peppering the plants hanging along walls. The water views as we cross the bridge when we leave the shire at the start of my journey are usually the highlight of my trip. It doesn’t matter how engrossing a book is, I will take that minute to just admire the view. Some days there’s a beautiful sunrise, on other days, it’s shimmering waters. There may be a lone kayaker on some mornings, making me slightly envious of him or her. How nice must it be to be out and about in nature this early!
I know in about three weeks’ time, I will no longer be taking this journey. I will be travelling shorter distances away from this all in a less crowded region. I will still view the water as it’s a sea change after all. But I will miss my bridge. I will miss my views. My heart will probably long for all that’s familiar and take time to embrace the new. I know this because seven years ago, when I moved into this area, it didn’t initially feel like home. But then, within a month, it gathered me in its bosom and gave me the comfort I needed.
Just like that, while heralding spring, I was home.
(c) Sanch V @ Sanch Writes (16 September 2016)