My thoughts are so affected by the music running through my mind. I interpret melody as a liquid, like a river flowing at different paces, in different rhythms, reflecting different colours and depths of light. Sometimes, the music is a smooth, breathing kind of wash, lulling me into a blissful peace of mind. Sometimes the music is a rapid, an exciting rush of sound racing me forwards, unpredictable and thrilling. Sometimes a song will lift me on a wave or plunge me in a fall, it can rustle my securities or comfort me like nothing else. Music can make me cry, make me hope, make me dance, dream, sway, sing... Music is incredibly powerful. And when it is at its very best and most influential, it makes me think.
I’m sitting on a train, heading back to school for the night. I’m sitting on my computer, staring out the window, listening to my iPod friend and engaging in a little self-analytical metaphysical pondering. I set it on “random shuffle” a few songs back, and I have to say that while the songs change it’s incredibly difficult to focus on one train of thought (so to speak) with the constant mental background changes. For example, when I began this piece I was listening to a gentle version of True Colours, then Creed’s With Arms Wide Open which transitioned to the Beatles with Twist and Shout, followed by You Give Love a Bad Name and Poor Unfortunate Soul... the Jonas Brother’s version. My thoughts have been jumping around just as much if not more than the genre flux might suggest. It’s hard to track it actually, since thought happens so quickly. As I keep writing this piece, I’ll insert when the song changes and I suppose you will be the judge of how or if it has an effect on what I say here (Love is Here, Tenth Avenue North).
I find that train tracks tend to cut across some of the most beautiful places in the North. You don’t see nearly enough fields and farms from the highway. It’s part of the reason that I’ve traded my transportation from bus to this magnificently old-fashioned passenger rail. I’ve always thought that there was something beautiful and romantic about the train. There’s something I absolutely love about moving slowly from one place to another, riding the rock of the cars, watching the scenes change outside my window. (Talk About It, Nicole C. Mullen) Even on such a greyish kind of day, the colours are beautiful and the forests are full of life. Every once in a while, while passing a house (The Thief, Relient K) I become very aware of the fact that we are passing not only people’s houses but also their very lives. Have you taken time to really sit back and think about the fact that people live in houses? Life happens in houses and cars and offices and cottages... so much life. (These Are the Moments, Sarah Evans) Life, you might say, happens everywhere. I would agree.
I’m passing through a small town. There are people in the snow (which is quite depressing and not of any particularly attractive crystal formation) planting trees. It seems like a strange kind of time to plant trees, but I suppose I’m not an expert on the subject. I’ve only planted a few trees in my life and they were more like transplants from one part of the forest to another... we were harvesting potential Christmas Trees one year when my sisters and I were small. We watered them regularly and everything. (Secret Smile, Rascal Flatts) Most of my other relationships with trees have been in the climbing of limbs or the burning of firewood. I also swallowed a tree whole, once upon a story. It’s true, just ask Carolyn. I make her verify that story pretty frequently.
(Part of Your World, Disney) I think I must type much slower than I think I do, based on the rate of changeover in the songs I’m listening to. I guess it might reflect the depth of the thought, but that might not be true. It probably reflects my levels of distraction. For example, we’ve just made a station stop and though I can’t see if we’ve gained any passengers I have seen a sign for Tom Thompson Park, just down that road. Of course you can’t see that I’ve just pointed out my window, but if you were here and this was a chat rather than a note (Get Him Back, Fiona Apple) it might have been interesting.
Why do you suppose so many northern shores and islands are layers with evergreens? Heron! Just chilling out, waiting for the train to pass. I think that animals are extraordinarily patient when it comes to human intrusion. One day I would love to see a moose. (One Girl Revolution, Superchick).
I love Canada. (Another Postcard, Barenaked Ladies) And I love trains. I think I would live on a train if I could and if it wasn’t so terribly impractical. It’s funny that I love movement so much in a way, because in life I’m such a home-body. I like being anchored, but it’s the go and return that I like most. (Beautiful World, GS Megaphone) (My Home, Thousand Foot Krutch) My sock has twisted around in my shoe. Socks are probably my least favourite of all human conventions. That, and tucking in the covers. (Life Goes On, Carrie Underwood) Zipholder. I just passed the skeletal frame of a yellow school bus... and the ruins of an old barn. I can’t believe how much you can see from a window seat. (Go the Distance, Disney) Well, the dining car just closed so I think it’s about time that I close up my computer as well. A thousand words of useless insights into my traveling mind... CLAIM! Okay, that was easily fifty zips and five zipholders. Don’t even try to “graveyard” that, I win today. Just accept defeat, family! Last song: No Fear, Terri Clark. And with that I bid you happy riding and may you take time to really think about your life and the lives of those you pass in commute.
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