Passing hours

Cold October night, sat in a train station fifty years out of use. Guitars playing gentle tunes, echoing under the arches; notes drifting from the cavernous terminus into the dark. We huddled on the old platform, sipping drinks. Our scarfs wrapped tight and jackets done up to the collar.

I'm having memories of three years ago, almost to the day, standing beside Niagara Falls in the sun. Overawed by the incredible power of the Earth. The music of the rushing water played out now 3000 miles away.

Cold fingers pluck the strings and the music rolls on. Forgotten words and repeated chords won't get us down. We're young and the world awaits us open-armed. We can do nothing wrong.

An old man looks down from a lighted window. Is he thinking of his youth and passing time with friends, or is he recalling the former days of this station, which he can surely remember. The puff and hiss of steam engines and the bustle of people long gone.

He continues to gaze down and I remember three years ago looking through the transparent floor of the CN Tower. Children crawling happily across the glass while frightened mothers watch horrified and fathers lean over from the edge to grab their offspring from a danger that is only imaginary.

The same stars shine down on us, listening to the songs as they did three years ago in Toronto. Time moves quickly through the hectic hours and peaceful moments, but I take them all in and I love it.