Saturday, October 4, 2008
driving
I love driving. Riding in a car, to be more precise. I sit in the backseat and stare out the window, and don't read any of the books I brought along. Everything is enchanted when you're just passing through. We can be flying past cornfields and the cornfields are magic, or meandering down some twisty homey road and I just know that someone I almost know lives in that little house with the bonfire in the backyard, but I'll never know who they are. It makes me want to write.
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I like travelling on a train through the suburbs of London on a winter's evening, when the sky is dark blue and everyone has turned their lights on.
As the train passes the backs of people's houses, I can see people in their kitchens and back rooms, cooking, eating, watching tv or reading. Occasionally I see a house that looks so nice, that I wish I knew the people in it.
There are few greater pleasures than travelling and daydreaming.
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