Train Comfort
With half my life spent in Alaska and the other in Los Angeles, I can safely say I am no stranger to wilderness or a flashy night in high heels. It's true, I become some sort of fairy nymph when surrounded by glistening spider webs and starlit treetop silhouettes (new sky discoveries like the Southern Cross are a fun find -- where in the world is the North Star?? Oh. Duh.). Throw on a stylish heel, however, and I seem to morph into the modern empowerment of sex appeal prestige with glossed fingernails tapping the glass of a favorite fine wine. Laugh if you wish, but after barely two weeks mucking around in gumboots (rain boots), pruning pear trees and pulling up couch grass and oxalis weeds in the rich dark earth of NZ, I find a glorious comfort to be on a train heading for Wellington. A day off in the city. However small, the sweet familiarity of a metropolis sooths the clamor of thoughts that circulate the mind when adopting a slower paced NZ farm schedule. Since this is less of a vacation and more of a life exploration, a tornado of emotions swirl about one's imagination amidst the deep quiet of an orchard and smiling adventures of anything new. The emotional swings love to mimic the actual surrounding strange weather patterns of warm sunny mornings with hail storms. Basically, constant WTF questions of self and nature simultaneously. I suppose the beat of a city is just familiarity calming my reckless mind and letting me know I am experiencing the divine pull of two rooted foundations within. Each needing full attention. Each needing a dose of exploration. So I will revel in the pure comfort of a train, a slick heel and fine glove. For the city holds claim to my heart in equal measure to a nature wonderland of mystical fairies and tonight, the city lights are my stars of direction.
