I enjoy watching reflections in train windows: the unexpected ones that appear when you enter a dark tunnel on a sunny day, or the host of ethereal spectres, which form constant travelling companions on a night-time journey.

I like that moment when the external scenery begins to blur, and you realise that the greens and blues of the landscape beyond the train have merged with the beige city outfits and black and white newspapers of the people sitting beside you.  A sudden flash of sunlight could be nothing more than the reflected glint from an iPhone; a blaze of bright flowers the pattern on a woman’s dress.

Sometimes, amidst the maze of mirroring surfaces, a face will appear as a reflection before me and, turning around, I find myself unable to locate its physical embodiment.  Ghosts of fellow passengers, unaware that they are being observed; makes me watchful of who, in turn, is observing me.

More often than not, though, I will come out of a daydream and realise that the reflected eyes that stare balefully back at me are no one’s other than my own.

© Simon Turner-Tree

Simon Turner-Tree finds time to sit and stare.