Every train station was a beautiful place, I've seen many of them before. I have seen many of the ones in my dreams. I look forward to exploring ones I haven't found yet in reality.
I don't seem to know ahead of time, just when I am in a station I am overcome with a feeling of, "I have been here before." For too long now I have wanted to travel the west coast shore from Washington to California and back again. This dream comes from that desire.
I loved them for their age, the visions they held of building new territories and going where no man had gone before. For their exquisite beauty, laid out and carefully planned.
I loved the sounds of the clickity clack of shoes upon floors all shiny and stone like, to soft thudding wood ones. Some with curved ticket booths of cedar and black iron rod bars. That is where people, in almost military fashion, took care of things. Like printing out ticket destinations, and taking your baggage away. Loved overhearing stories of passengers mistrust of where their luggage was going.
Another thing to love about trains, the room around you in the sitting cabin. It allows for more personal stuff to be kept closer. The furniture for seating us while waiting, always reminds me of old pews in the churches. Some stations even have them arranged in rows like a congregation. I like more the ones with an open floor in the station.
Marble walls, marble stairs, curving up to stain glass windows. With little groups of pews slinking along the walls. History is always spread on the walls or down the halls, sometimes so fascinating you could forget you were getting on one.
"That's it," he interrupted me. "I was looking at the crystal balls of color dancing on the ceiling, and then I saw the train choo chooing away. I watched you walk over here, so can I stay."
"What about the woman calling you?" "Wasn't me, I swear, I don't live anywhere around here."