I Often Dream of Trains...

Oh God, it's beautiful here! We arrived to the sound of bells from the village , and light splots of rain soaking quickly into the dust on my shoes as we approached the station house, where a huge locomotive presided over the scene like some mechanical matriarch from the 1800s. Joe doesn't know which way to look first. His little face is bemused and awestruck, loving the acrid billows of steam but not understanding them.

We managed to find a coach all to ourselves, and slammed the door on the outside world. Nestled into our seats, Martin and I, with Seb and Joe opposite, grinned inanely at each other as the haunting, flutey voice of the train floated over the carriage and the guard blew his whistle to begin our journey.

The train monopolized all conversation. We sat there, jolting and bouncing, hypnotized by the chugs and clangs, the rumbles and rattles, imagining a world not too long ago when life was always this perfect - as near as dammit, before people wrecked it with cars and Thomas the Tank Engine. A time when trees and bushes and cows were all there was. When women's dresses rustled aainst the narrow doorframes. When men pulled their bicycles out from beneath a hedge and wobbled their way home.

I think Joe has caught the disease. His eyes were dancing as he drank his hot chocolate later in the cafe. Seb bought him a flag, and Martin took some great pictures. I think today has been one of the happiest I can remember for a very long time. I want more.