It is 4:45 in the New Haven train station. The long wooden benches are empty except for two homeless men at the far end of the station and a young woman talking on her cell phone and waiting for a train in the middle of the station. A woman comes in and uses an ATM. Three people arrive to get train tickets. Other than that the cavernous space with its decorous ceiling and limestone walls feels more like a quiet library than a train station.

I look up at the departures board. The train to Boston should be arriving shortly on Track 1. If I had driven to Boston, I could have slept for another hour and a half before leaving home. The traffic is not likely to be bad on an early Saturday morning and I could probably find parking easily enough. However, I did not relish an early morning drive or trying to find my way around the streets of Boston.

Inside the train it is dark and quiet. There are the muffled sounds of passengers snoring, with any luck, I too, will join them in this nether land of partial sleep on a moving train.

I twist and turn as I try to get comfortable. Dream like images pass through my mind. At moments, I glimpse out the window to see a large moon lit field covered with frost. Later, red morning sun rises over Long Island sound. I see a sign for Mystic. I hear an announcement about Providence and then Route 128.

Now it is light and I have managed to get two hours of travelers sleep. The landscape continues to flash by. I see two geese sitting quietly on another frost covered field and then some sea gulls in a pond.

Soon, I will be at a conference in Boston. I have copies of the first presenters slides and I will view them, and see if I can gather any good thoughts before the conference.