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.
