She got out.

Leaving the city by train the horizon of NYC would take her breath away.  As the train rounds the corner on the bridge, she sees a computer board of neighborhoods butt up against the East river while the silhouetted sky line of Manhattan roars up behind them. Once out of the city the grim industrial buildings begin to sprawl their grey depression across the landscape, highways slammed with cars spaghetti their way north, blank corporate cubes stand squat. When it’s raining the view is bleak, the train even safer.  Slowly they all loosen their grip giving way to glimpses of water, the promise that not far away there is an ocean. Trees replace concrete walls, shingle houses take the place of apartment buildings. Charming small villages begin to litter the route. Here every night is Friday night.  She breathes a little easier, she got out! There is a moment along the way where it feels like she has walked through the secret door at the back of a wardrobe. She has left the real world and entered a magical one. She’s crossed over.  Soon the trees start to give way to marshlands and oceans. The dense canopies break open and she is hit with big skies and huge water, houses dotting the coast line.  Occasionally pockets of industry will pop up to remind her of mans urban sprawl but she is safe she’s on the train, passing through.