Time slides by, borne on

The hills that fall away outside the windows

Speckled with drops of rain cast off by

Clouds that overhang the sky.

My eyes slide away from the pages in front of me

And the sanitised muteness of the carriage seems overbearing

Imposed on us fellow journeymen.

It is not the first time I find myself on this path

Memories of younger selves' excitement and trepidation of

Possibilities unravelling from the intricacies enshrined in fate’s threads.

I still hear the echoes of the Saturday night bass

And the laughter of strangers carried on

Cigarette smoke and spilled pints,

Reunion hugs, avocado brunches and happy hour bargains.

I know my travels, like all things, must end

But, for now, I close my eyes and rest

In the still of this snapshot.

Certain in the inevitability of return

To transient wanderings.