Early evening and I’m on the move again. Fields slip past the train window, grassy and buttercup filled. I see families of rabbits, little brown stains moving in the grass. A grey horse, leaping and bucking, wild, with the joy of life springing from its youthful muscles. Clouds on the horizon, morphing and swelling, tearing out of their neat shapes into the anvil-like form of cumulonimbus. Cloud nine. I feel like I could be up there, rising above the sky, feeling a strange joy as the train rushes forward, its motion smooth and constant, always moving forwards leaving behind the sheep and the crows, the cows, the sudden shimmer of water, the trees, the pigeons, the tumbledown farmhouses, the horses, the homes, the powerlines, the towns and villages, the giant warehouses. Am I moving away or moving towards? It is never clear to me. I am heading for something yet leaving something behind and this is always true but never, perhaps, so obvious as when I am on a train. I head into the unknown, I do not know what the next moment will bring. I never know. I have never seen this sky before, nor this field, nor this train carriage nor these words. However familiar they seem, they are entirely and utterly new.