There’s something magical about a train. The plaintive whine of the whistle, the eclectic crowd of humanity waiting to alight, the massive whoosh of wind as it lumbers past.
We find our seats, and are surprised to find the train car almost empty. It is the last train of the morning and the early commuters have all gone before. I notice the absence of children. The cushioned hum of the engine suppresses all other noise. We are leisurely travelers enjoying an experience. This is a $16 cheap thrill, and we are cut off from our car, at the mercy of public transportation.
Gliding along the rails, gently rocking back and forth, the world goes by. Even in 2019 you can somehow feel as if you’re in touch with the 1800’s.
It is a raw Spring day and the fields and orchards are beautifully wearing new, untried green. Raindrops splash on the train windows and my husband remarks that we didn’t bring an umbrella.
While he gazes out the window getting his bearings and pointing out landmarks, I look up momentarily then return to poking at my phone, documenting every nuance, taking word pictures. I am lost in dreamland, imagining journeys far more romantic than riding the ACE train to the Pleasanton Mall.
But then, every day is romantic if you are truly living it.