As I watch the light drain from the world, its remnants reflect off metallic surfaces in the distance giving the impression of flames.

I've grown fond of train rides recently, and I have found theres nothing quite like staring out the sometimes-smudged windows onto a fading world of ecological gradients at sunset. Theres something about how the leafless trees frame the purpling sky and how the knee high grasses seem pristinely untouched that suggest a frozen time, one devoid of any human issues. I'd like to be able to exist in that frozen time somehow, I'd like to bask in the muted light of dusk and know for certain if the reflective streams are as refreshing as they seem from my over-crowded train car.

I can't deny that long trips of any kind cull out some sort of lyricism in me, but train rides, with their vintage auras, seem to be the most successful. I often find myself thinking about how this mode of transportation has existed for generations far removed from mine, about how long-dead individuals have looked out similar windows and had similar thoughts of pristine beauty. Perhaps poets, historical figures, and transformative icons of the ages have all done the same, perhaps they wondered who else, if anyone, would ever see a sunset as beautiful as they had.

Im not sure what it is about trains that stir up these feelings of introspection and reminiscence, but whatever it is, I hope to one day isolate it and take it with me. I look forward to the day when every window can feel like the window of a train.

The world is dark now. The flames of fleeting sun-rays have been quenched. The only lights left are those multi-colored ones of towns too far to feel real. I can still see the outlines of skeleton tree branches against the navy sky. There is a whisper of a green band wrapped around the horizon and I am tired. The people around me are sleeping and I think I will join them shortly. I want to look out the window just a little while longer.