Sunlight and Train from Rome to Milan

By Michael Quin

That eager sun which begins the day is storming the streets of Rome. I watch it now as it settles on the rubble of the city walls, and enters the holy spaces of hollow ruined temples, surrendered long ago. A few thoughts later, now we are beyond the fringes, and the same light rolls like breezes over the lush hills of the hinterland – illuminating infinite blades of grass like armadas of minute green sails on dirty seas. And now and then, that very light which seemed to conquer Rome, dances in perfect shapes on the delicate nose of la Mara. In her eyes it swims abundantly, and richly, as it swims in the Mediterranean, somehow contained in those eyes’ elegant curves, the shape of sweeping beaches. In her it plays in the midst of another light.

Through the valley by the side of this train we ride upon, brilliant cloud-white sheep are being herded onwards by a shepherd and his hovering cane. On this train ride I can’t help but feel like those sheep being pushed onwards, destiny my cane, with never enough time to savour the view.

Now Tuscany rolls out in beauty upon beauty, like these flowers I observe. They appear, clambering with violet energy over a ruined farmhouse, at the feet of low tranquil hills whose trees blush a myriad of greens with auburn flecks.

The landscape is a tangible mood, which the sun sets. I grieve the pace with which it passes, and grip tighter the images I’ve caught. So like a projection of our hearts is unfolding this final trip. Immersed in each others’ mysteries and charms, in devotion, and in a degree of despair, at what future landscape lies in wait.

And thus sighs her smile as she watches me now; one so full of beauty, and affection, tinged with the apprehension of those riding trains amongst blessed hills towards destinations unknown.