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What the Train Window Taught Me About Time
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A commute is not a gap in the day but a seam — one of the few places where I am neither arriving nor leaving, just carried.
The commute, reframed — frame 2
The commute, reframed — frame 3
The commute, reframed — frame 4
For three years I treated the 7:14 as dead time, a gray parenthesis between coffee and inbox. Then one February morning the frost feathered across the glass and I stopped scrolling long enough to watch a heron hold its ground against the current of the Housatonic, absolutely still, while everything
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