It’s snowing on this half of the track but not on yours. The grainy image of you resolves through the slow, white torrent and I wonder what I look like from where you stand, cloaked as I am in snow. Much the same, I imagine. Each of us having our forms broken apart by motion, it does not matter where we stand, only that a veil separates us, and that we are apart. Then the engine blasts through and scatters the snow. When it pulls away you are gone.
Paddy Dobson
16th January 2023