Artificial warmth smothers the fog of rain outside, grey.
We're all grey too, Melbourne winter fashion fills the train.
There's layers and layers of grey from charcoal to pearl with black over and a coloured bag or scarf here and there.
Today is not a grey mood though. I'm light-hearted not quite skipping but OK.
The train jams full at each station more grey
piles in, shaking drops and puddling footprints.
Train hum and tinny beats coming from ipods, conversations, book readers, newspapers.
This is definitely NOT a train to take the bike on.
I have favourite passages on my commuter train journey.
Once it was a swamp, probably a good dry season tucker gathering place, open to the sea in between low coastal scrub. Then they built a racecourse, ran a train line out from the busy port town and put a station there. Had a grandiose Victorian grandstand complete with Phoenix
canariensis, the`Federation Palm', that bio maps the growth of Melbourne. Phar Lap raced here.
The palm remains alone in the landscape that reverts back to swampy wetland, precious in itself. A bike path carves a circular track around the swamp, a ford and a bridge navigate the creeks. I wonder if the bike track is laid on top of the old racetrack? Were the creeks created
to drain the swamp in preparation for the racetrack? The train passes to the north and the view runs out over the swamp to the blue bite of the bay.