You sit down, and through the window that separates the carriages, I see you. In your hands is a book, but you’re too far away and I cannot read its title, nor do I recognize its cover. Once we hit the loop, you disappear temporarily, as the train carriage snake around the corner. I look out the window, and see the creek and its overhanging willows. As we pass the magnificent oak tree, a gust of wind pulls yellow and red leaves from its branches. A child points, and tugs on her fathers’ sleeve, who smiles faintly. We continue straight, and the carriages align. I see you, again, and I catch your curious gaze. The train stops. You get off, dropping your book, and nodding in appreciation to the suited woman who picks it up for you. As you leave, you turn your head to look at me. You get off the train. You’re no longer shy, now, and we smile at each other in appreciation of our ephemeral connection.