There is a strange exhilaration in train travel. Standing on an open-air platform, under a white-cloud speckled sky, waiting for a metal monster of motion and noise to come hurtling, rumbling, trudging down rusted tracks.
There is magic in moving across country, over rivers, beside fields of flowering yellow, with no roads or cars in sight. Just spacious glass-filled images of running horses, rugged keeps, and ancient trees.
In Scotland, rumbling down to the border city of Carlisle, we passed a train, all clashing purples and bright reds, barreling in solitude through empty fields, and I couldn't help but wave hello to the Hogwarts Express.
Practices for Disturbing Times
3 years ago
3 comments:
I want to be in the UK sooooooooooooooooooooooooooo bad right now
Wait, you told me you saw the Hogwarts express when we were on the bus north, while I was sleeping. I saw no such tain on the way to Carlisle. Am I so blind to the magical events during our travels?
Okay, so I misremembered when exactly I saw the Hogwarts Express. But I did see it, so the story remains basically unaltered.
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