Training Your Vision

Ah the train. Whether a majestic machine forging its path through rugged wilderness or an old Hollywood escort of the elegant and refined, it seems to carry a certain whimsy. Or so I thought until I realized one ran right past my apartment.

At eye level.

Every two hours.

At least.

For obvious reasons, I used to HATE this. The train is loud and intrusive and far too frequent for my liking.

But now that the tree branches are growing bare, I can actually see the trains pretty clearly. More importantly, I can see what’s on them: graffiti.

From hit-and-run style tags to full on murals, the train cars are covered with it. It’s like a giant passport stamped with the different people and places it’s encountered. It’s a guest book for artists and vandals alike. It’s a weathered nomad, touched by the scars and the souls of his travels. Suddenly you feel as though you’re in the presence of something very worldly and you can’t help but feel just a twinge of reverence. Suddenly, despite it being a little rough around the edges, you appreciate it.

So, next time you’re stranded in your car at a railway crossing, keep your eyes peeled. You never know what you’ll find.