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After a day of meetings my shoulders sank as I entered the tunnel, the crowd and the noise. The night before the repeated rhythm of passing trams had kept company with my sleep, reminding me perhaps of sleep in motion, familiar despite the unfamiliar room. Imagine a world where being in transit is to be at home. |
7 thoughts on “transit”
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torill
“being in transit is to be at home.” Isn’t that called being a nomad?
jcwinnie
or a sailor, or space exploration, or…
torill
Not a sailor or an explorer, I think, because in that case home is somewhere you have left and will return to, or somewhere in the future, somewhere to settle and make your home, at any frontier. The nomads of the world have their home in the motion, and not at some point in the past or the future.
That some sailors don’t settle well is an other matter. They still want something to return to: a solid point to call home.
Jill
I suppose a girl who grew up between continents might well be soothed by the sounds of transport… Or she might choose to live in the same town for years and years and years.
I like my home. And trains.
torill
Or a girl who grew up desperately longing to be elsewhere, anywhere else! may be soothed by the journey, by being in transit and not chained down. I do love to travel, and “home” is a sensation, not a location.
pericat
I grew up always moving, back and forth and here and there. Every two or three years, even now, I get decidedly antsy, wanting to pack up everything and go somewhere else.
Norman
My daughter attende twelve schools, my son only ten, but home was never in transit. We were neither gypsies nor circus folk, who are possibly the only groups today of whom it might be said they’re frequently both at home and in transit.