Travel By Train
It is a blurry sort of day. Flat. A bit of snow
a bit of rain. A train to the city.
Foggy landscapes out of the windows.
You are peaceful. Happily anonymous.
Another stranger with a camera and keyboard,
Sometimes looking out. Sometimes looking within.
Happily invisible. Your thoughts your own.
No one caring, those thoughts might be anything,
no need to respond. No need to be anything
for anyone else.
About this poem
A mood poem. I am missing travel. I do like disappearing now and again.
Tom
Quarry House 
I used to like moments when I was alone in a hotel room and no one knew where I was. I was able to relax and just be me.