Below is a poem I wrote while winding through the hills of California on my way to Santa Barbara, on the train. Train trips are these spaces of magic, where the people around you become your community, a microcosm of the good in the world.

On this trip I was interested to see the old telephone wires with their glass caps to prevent electricity burning up the telephone poles. I saw a whale slowly gliding through the waves on the most beautiful stretch of coast, colored with succulents in full bloom. I saw a huge prison and tiny people. I saw artichokes growing freely with cows spread sparsely through the gentle hills.

I finished reading two books. I got a love note. My flip phone was stolen and my neighbors turned into a detective troop to try, in vain, to get it back. I heard the stories of a woman who went to live with and care for her aging father in Mexico and consequently became the leader of an avocado orchard. I met a badass principal who was going back into the classroom to teach second graders. I had an unrequited crush on her brother and imagined what my life would be like if I was bold, or if my life was a romance film.

Big love to my Lola, who would plan our summer travels to include train rides and instilled in me the love of traveling, of connecting with strangers, and riding the Amtrak.