I could see the morning frost on the grass and the horses eating a fresh hay. And I could internally feel the melting of water on the furry leaves, and I wished I was a part of it so I could take the thirst of a wild animal away, not to startle it. I saw dozens of cows, walking slowly on the field, chewing up the crunchy greenery, picking up the juicy newborn stems, making it up into their daily bubble gum. And the birds were hiding from the cold air, but peeking out of their nests to make the colorful highlights on their feathers dance under the diluted rays of sun.
And I listened to the humans in my earphones, not to hear the humans on the seats. And the next station was empty with only lost glove put on a tooth of the iron fence with the middle finger up.
The duration of the trip is around one hour. Same to the duration of the water melting under the sun from ten to eleven in the morning. The duration of a human tear to form due to the observation of something immensely real, to run down the cheek and to completely dry down.

I will soon take the earphones out, I will become startled, as usual, by the monotony and chaos as soon as I cross the yellow line between the train and the platform. I will step out onto the cold ground of the station. But there will be a thought, a momentary bliss of one realisation: I have, in fact, just been a part of the simple and natural process, the process of water melting to take away the thirst of the wild animal.