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1 March 2016
Views from the Train
I have gone all away from the morning, the train rushing madly on, the chug chug chug of its wheels underneath me and the shaking of its rapid walls, the clang and rattle, and the long, repeated screech as we approach and leave the stations.
Morning was pale yellow as I peeped underneath the blind, the sky streaked and cloudy, the landscape flat and broad. Trees were sparse and low, bare and spindly, not the trees of home. I saw no mountains, I saw no rivers.
But my father will be there on my arrival – there in the hot landscape where we'll live with his new wife; his new old, fat old wife with the white streak in her bright black hair and the scornful smile on her deep red lips.
hot and flat
low scrub in red dust
yet birds rise
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