By Sandy Wilson
The train is slowing down through the leafy cutting, the foliage fragmenting the sunlight, a strobe light effect inside the carriage.
You are standing at the crossing gate as my train rumbles slowly over the uneven rails.
The turbulence created by the passing of the carriages ruffles your blond hair, wraps the fabric of your dress around your slender legs. You are pretty, attractive.
You, a stranger, now travel with me, recorded in my memory, for the rest of my journey.
The train slows, stops at the platform. My wife steps forward, kisses me.
“Seen anything interesting?” She asks.