I’m a train catcher. With a backpack on my back and a bag in hand, I catch trains to go where I go. The train pulls in. It’s a moment of flurry, of chaos as the aisles are jammed with suitcases and people with backpacks on their backs. They’re all eyeing off spare seats. But don’t you worry, I can get those spare seats if I’m fast enough. A slide of the pack on my back into the luggage tray and I’m free and off to find my seat. You’re usually moved once, twice, thrice if you haven’t reserved seats, but you find ‘the one’ eventually. And then it’s a trip of hours on a train that runs through the back forests of the cities of Europe. I’ve found a seat next to a white haired dear who clutches her bag to her and eyes people with wonder. We’ve exchanged a few wordless conversations and smiles that convey much more than they should as we don’t understand one another. I asked for a pen by doing the motion of writing with my hand and her eyes lit up and she scurried through her bag only to come up dry and with an apology. We smile again. I spy a field of sunflowers all twisting their necks to the sun. I spy old farm houses that have seen better days and are cracked like eggs with hay spilling out. I spy factories in Dresden that have never been repaired from the WW2 bombs. I spy a view that takes away a few of my breaths.