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It's different when the sun's out. I only come here after midnight.



Looking down from the southmost bridge, my eyes follow the train tracks beneath as they roll into the conrete and glass mouth that gapes in the hill below. The grassy slope of the hill is split in two by the stepped and layered structure buried inside, and the tracks lead deep within it. To the left and the right, the wings of the Allen curl outward to embrace this hollowed mound. Here, just north of the station, I'm close enough to see inside, far enough that it's another world.



I like the watch the subway cars rumble and screech through the stylized gate to the world below, a constant stream of hissing and shuddering directly beneath me. I like to listen to the cars rush past on the flanks, bright white spots to one side matching glowing red pairs to the other. I like to watch the hilltop, where the busses stop for passengers, blue lights added to the rest with the Tower as their backdrop. So busy, yet so impersonal, everyone so ultimately detatched inside their moving metal shells.



There's no one going past where I am, watching, above, alone, with the wind in my hair. It's still and quiet here.

COMMENTS

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LiamK
21:00 Dec 21 2009

This entry describes a very real place in Toronto. If you are a local, there are enough clues therein with which to find it. I won't be presumptuous enough to recommend you do. But know that you can.

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Joli
17:55 Dec 25 2009

I read this aloud. It's so utterly and perfectly...you.

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Joli
11:36 Oct 21 2024

Is it still? I wonder if it's me now. I'd like nothing more than to be in that place at this moment. I wish very much not to be... Here

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LiamK
18:28 Nov 09 2024

I'm not sure it is, anymore. It is in some moments.

It never occured to me this way, but if this journal were a book I'd put this across the page from "Subway Station". Within and without. The juxtaposition probably captures something about this time.

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