There’s a big difference between riding a coal train through Kansas and Nebraska and trying to write. Writing is a suspension of life. I believe that so-called writer’s block is something that any writer is going to experience every day, but in a minor way. You break through some kind of membrane, and then you go into another world.
--McPhee

Headed north by train very shortly. I love traveling by train. I also like traveling on holidays. There aren't many people out, and those who are out have their silliness and joy on display.

A single engine is idling on the track less than two blocks from my window. The wisteria is blooming purple and sweet outside the window, and the grape vines are just starting to leaf. It's 62.2 degrees F and dry. I went for my standard walk wearing my long gray coat, because it somehow feels really good to sweep along in it even though I don't need the warmth. I am slow to admit that spring has sprung here, because so often I will end up chilled by a dark drizzling fog sometime when I left home without enough layers.
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I took the amtrak from Portland to Seattle and back again. On the way there a young couple traded their business class seat to me, so they could sit together. I liked business class. There was a nice little heater right by my chair, and the seat was big enough to sit crosslegged in. On the way back, I took my comp ticket to the ticket counter to ask if I could upgrade it to business class. The lady checked and checked in the computer, and the moment she realized that my ticket was a comp, she scoffed, and said "No! This is a free ticket!" as if it was totally outrageous that I thought I might get away with riding in business class. I am after all just skiing riffraff, with a green gregory pack on my back and an old north face jacket. I thanked her for her help and went away to contemplate the class divide. I came out below it that time.
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