It is easy, when you travel, to fall in love with a place and to dream about making a life there. I am reminded of this tug as we train across France.
As I see the charming cream stucco and stone houses, and infinite horizons of yellow rapeseed fields, green meadows and dense woods, I fall into fantasizing how we might uproot and move to one of these hamlets thousands and worlds away from home.
But, I am also reminded to ask if the attraction is not so much to this particular place as it is to the nature of any landscape, slow and different? Or, are these emotional pulls fueled by past and familiar thin-space experiences in England, or Scotland, or maybe even to some degree, fields of Illinois?
I am cautioned to not think too much about all this, or dream so much as to miss the reality of now. This now.
This quiet, slow rocking train presenting spectacular views that I will try to recall in meditation back home in the city.