Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • What did she know, this traveller on a train?

    What did I know? For I was the traveller, my face at the window of the rumbling fast down the tracks. What did I feel, what did I discern?

    I felt the earth, I felt the tracks laid down, I felt the spikes, the raw ore, I felt the gravel, I felt myself at the level of the ground. Halleluyah, I was a bum in economy, but not on a plane.

    I was not up in the air on a plane, warned, dictated to, directed, with airline staff patrolling, lecturing, putting fear in the very air, I was not in an incarcerated seat-numbered air prison with the humidity sucking me dry at desert low levels and cabin pressure making my psyche feel I was at the height of mountain sickness.

    No, I was travelling in harmony with my lower limbs. Halleluyah! I was a bum moving on tracks on the ground. I felt myself unwarned, unstrapped in, unsearched, unscolded, I felt myself in a rockabye rhythm with the moving motion. I felt free, in a free nation. Fancy that emotion.

    I was not going to drop from the sky, I could get up and ramble, I came and went as I pleased on this earth, in the barrelling transport, I was free and I had my bags all over my feet. Yeah. I had my seat in the non upright position all the way, I had my little tray down. So there. I blocked my own exit to the aisle and I was happy to do so.

    I felt myself at the level of earth, and moving along it, fields, corn, moos, tenements, bridges, small town stations, parkings, nothing for miles of green and one small house off in the corn-high nowhere.

    (Photo of Susan on train by D.)
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.