Murmurs in the crowd

I move with the crowd, stepping forward, stepping back, as if in a familiar dance. My facial expression is reflected in the faces all around me.  My hands are curled in, protecting my space, so thin it is an invisible distance.   Am I unique and special?  Against the sea of humanity of every skin and hair color, I am but a speck, perhaps a leaf falling unnoticed to the pavement.  Commuting does this to you - a perspective of the other's heartbeat, a bigger world.

On the upside, there is comfort in the shared journey, even for a short period of time.  Wherever we came from, and where we are heading to, here is a communal space - a base of touchdown,  a point of reference.  There is safety in numbers, as if it is a validation that I am going to the right direction.  Even the clothes  and shoes I am wearing is validated by the crowd of commuters.   We are all mirrors of each other, glazed by city dust.

Outside the train, the windows tell a story of our changing seasons.   The maple trees have turned to pumpkin yellow, mellow orange and brown hues. Grey clouds and mist hover most of our mornings.   A chill nips the air and the geese have taken flight to warmer shores.    We huddle in our seats- coats, sweaters, boots- waiting for the doors to chime, opening to another flood of faces.   

murder of crows 
on power lines and street lamps-
sunset recedes, falling leaf-





Posted for dVerse Poets Pub, Haibun Monday:   Murmuration with guest host Qbit/Randall.  Theme:  One's self, En-Masse.  Please join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST.