Soft Against the Window

The train moved slowly through the outer edges of the city, where the buildings begin to thin and the trees lean in closer. I sat by the window, watching the light soften against the glass — a kind of warmth that doesn’t ask to be noticed.

There was a man across from me, asleep with his head tilted just enough to catch the last of the sun. No one spoke. The silence felt earned.

I didn’t take a photo at first. I just watched. Sometimes that’s enough.

Later, I stepped off at Edmonds and walked the rest of the way home. The air smelled faintly of cedar and something sweet I couldn’t name.