At bustling Gare Saint Lazare is the train for home – boring diesel, no longer romantically clouded in steam, when you would have been dressed formally for travelling with a hat and white gloves picking up every speck of coal dust.
Now you are casual in jeans and a sweater which would have been more convenient then. Instead of a porter to do your bidding you trail your suitcase on wheels behind you, anxiously seeking your place. Sounds intensify; people are rushing; doors are slamming; whistles shriek. No time for nostalgic musing: hurl yourself in, flop down in your seat and relax. Jerk, clank, trundle clatter between encroaching city blocks. Settle to a smoother rhythm. Calmly now, we’re on our way.
through blooming apple orchards ─
the fragrance of Spring
For dVerse Haibun Monday where the illustration was Monet’s painting of Gare Saint Lazare in Paris, the terminus for Basse Normandie, where I live. When I was studying for my online degree that station was associated in my mind with travel to tutorials and exams.