Sitting by the window in a fast train slashing through the landscape
Racing against the last lights a race that is already lost
It reminds me of Jack Kerouac’s “on the road” scrolls lost in the mail
Something irremediable and acutely irretrievable the speed of time running by
A flash like a continuous sound barrier so you can hear no more
The race was lost before it even started
All you hear is the echo of the starting pistol
The bullet is yours…
Photo Hugh Ardoin The French Landscapes Gallery