Last night I dreamed of trains; of the past and of the present. No, my subconscious was not preoccupied by the ones of the future and that is not without meaning.
Steam locomotive hauled cargo-bourn squealers and bogies, passenger carrying luxury carriages with all the long-gone glitz and glamour of another era.
Then the Metropolitan tube-type ones that converge and disperse forming underground labyrinths that connect the bustling city above, the grande vitesse ones travelling at phenomenal speeds from one end of the country to the other.
“Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own focus.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson.
I remember enjoying the scenery whilst sipping on mint tea in the velvet-dressed dining car of the Orient Express (not to be confused with the Venice Simplon OE that continues to run).
Helen Marie Joyce 