Stationed
Ah the sweet sweet smell of sunshine. This morning is the first with summer smell-o-vision. I walked into Bristol station and could feel the heat coming off things and out of the ground. Or maybe it’s the absence of cold that smells so good, as it’s still only hovering around 45. In the station the diesel and dust was thick in my nose and prompted memories of reading my way through Richard Ford novels while on my MA. The station cafe is a strange place of odd barstaff and cheap music, but I don’t want it to change. And I don’t want the station to change either. It is where I continually enter and re-enter my lives, it is certainly also a place of memory. Our train is pulling away now and I get a view of barreled roofs and corrugated iron painted in sunlight. I remember looking at Walker Evans photos, and think he would like the light on Temple Meads right now. I am thankful that I can take such joy in a mess of outbuildings and service shacks and hope today remains sunshiney and doesn’t, as has been promised, turn to rain.