The view from my studio, a window which looks out to the old rose bush, out the garden gate and across the way where I sight the lake, and then I see it!, the train station. I hear the train coming. I cannot get there in time but I know that sound travels farther across water so I throw open the old window and look to the lake, where I whisper the words,
"I am here".
I hear the train leaving and I know my words have boarded and are making their way to a stranger.