She watches for trees
By moor land
She watches for trees from the train. Here they come. First silver birch, then ash and elm, and finally as clumps become woods, oak joins them. It’s like a party. A party that never quite gets going. Everyone just standing around. Apart but together. She wonders who'll make the first move, perhaps the one with wind-curved branches, that looks like it’s making an effort, but her daydream is disturbed by the guard asking for her ticket.