In a station

Small small - blue jay-scale entry.

Backstory:
I came upstate today (it's rained for my arrival).
My commute from the city requires a simple sequence of subway, through the grumpy day-commuters of lower Penn Station, to my own beautful Empire Line Amtrak to Hudson NY. The Empire Line runs beside the Hudson, its seats have plug points and fellow passengers look, mostly, so relieved to be shedding the city that a state of grace and gratitude hovers over the cars.

(Plus: view's stunning, cafe car's open and everyone loves a train ride.)

But the point.
On my first leg of the journey, on the 72nd Street station platform, a gentleman was singing and playing the guitar. I don't recall the songs, and he sang so avidly I couldn't ask his origins, but he sang in Spanish and with a vigor that Linds would have just loved, and danced to. He was dignified, his voice was very strong and clean; the singer/player transported my platform-segment to a New York moment of group giddiness. To a man/child/exectutive, we shared some tangible gladness to be together. And we marveled at our luck to be at that station at that moment.

Lots of smiles and dollars into the guitar case. Our train came, we dispersed - almost lonely now.

When my next leg ended, with the train doors opening at Hudson Station some 2hrs north and later, dandelion puffs filled the compartment.

C - noting with a stub of pencil that Linds was singing everywhere today.