Night Walk

It was a cool dry evening; the kind which made me feel I could walk for miles in it: but I had a bus to catch. 
A spider collected its day's victims on the bus stop pole as I waited for my ride to draw into view. 
Alighting, I took my usual seat, finding it to be the only one without a functioning overhead strip fluorescent; the mild seclusion of the half-light suited me. 
As the bus drove nearer town, the late evening traffic slowed us to a crawl, softening every bump in the road to a gentle rock. At this speed I was free to people-watch, to pry into a second of their lives unbeknownst to them. 
When I finally arrived at my stop, I uttered a soft 'thank you' to the driver before stepping out into the faintest drizzle of rain. I wove through homeward bound city workers to pass beneath the bridge 
over which a departing train was piping and clattering; the sound secretly thrilled me. 
Once clear of the bridge, the drizzle began to cling to my hair in beads, reflecting the orange glow of the streetlights as I climbed the hill. In a small side- street, the glare and chaos of the main road began to fade, leaving me to trudge through shadows alone until I reached my destination. 
Distantly, the hollow screech and whistle of the trains below was still audible, but that was all.

Musings of a Train Journey

My scenery blows by at the speed of diesel,

While up above people travel at the speed of sound,

Signing their mark across the blue open;

Down here we sign in smears of spray paint and blood.

I catch snatches of life as it goes past

Knowing I wouldn’t trade with any of them

To save my own. It’s too good to be true.

They’re building higher everyday

If only to be closer to the God they fear –

I relinquished my hold on Him long ago,

And now here I am,

Nestled in the heart of man’s anti-Christ machine,

With the scenery blowing by.