This morning I’m sitting on the platform at the local train station in Moreton-in-Marsh.
I was hoping to spend time people watching, but the few early risers who were here have all boarded the 05:51 to London Paddington.
The next train isn’t due for an hour, so it looks like I’m on my own.
It’s still night.
The bright floodlights on the platform make it impossible to see anything beyond the stations limits. I’m surrounded by pitch black.
I can hear birds singing, vehicles in the distance and the sound of the same trader I noticed yesterday setting up her coffee stall in the station carpark.
My attention has just been drawn to the signal hut at the end of the opposite platform. I can see a figure moving around inside.
I feel peaceful this morning. It’s rare that my mind is this quiet.
I think the darkness helps. It focuses my mind and hides the library of distractions visible in day light.
It’s raining, by the way.
Not heavily. It’s the fine kind of rain that floats down rather than falls.
This does however mean there’s no prospect of a visible sunrise this morning. Once the darkness retreats, the sky will be shaded grey.
I find this weather brings with it calming properties.
A slow drip from a drainpipe nearby on my left keeps catching my attention.
Its pace is picking up and slowing down in an awkward rhythm.
My sub-conscious has latched on to it and now my thoughts are doing the same thing.
It’s funny, the subtle things to which our bodies will react. It’s such a clear example of how inter-connected we are to everything around us.
I find rain in its natural form calming. It fills the air with its presence and I willingly soak up its purposeful energy.
We don’t question the rain, it just is.
When rain is impeded, however; collected and funnelled through pipework then forced to drip, drip, drip against plastic or metal it becomes obviously noticeable, hectic even.
It creates an unnatural sound, interfering with the rain’s tranquil energy and in turn affecting mine.
It’s not the fault of the rain. That doesn’t even make sense.
It’s when rain makes contact with some sort of human effort to shape the world that its calming presence becomes distorted.
Time spent in nature is the answer to finding tranquility in our lives.
Rain drips differently in nature.
It is a sound designed of its surroundings. The heartbeat of the natural world.
It’s clearly morning now.
The darkness has dissipated and the sky is shaded with ever changing greys.
Big, brutal clouds are gracefully lumbering high above me.
The station feels less all-consuming now. No longer an island in the darkness.
I can see as far as the horizon along the tracks and sense activity in the air.
It’s 06:48 now and the day feels like it’s found its rhythm.
Here comes the next train to Paddington pulling into the station.