cistus termination thinking

 A sequel to a previous photograph. Bees and cistus flower.

"This train will terminate at Tunbridge Wells,"  says the loudspeaker. Something coldly final about the word "terminate"recalls the even  more chilling  "exterminate, exterminate" repeated, with harsh mechanical croaks by the  oddly shaped, highly improbable but none the less frightening Dalek robots in the original  Doctor Who television series. The language of the railways seems to possess its own linguistic code, where passengers are addressed as"customers", which  for reasons I have never been able to fathom, I have found almost has scary as the Daleks.

Nothing to read on the train. What to do? Look out of the window at the passing countryside, the walls of green, and think. Ain't anything wrong with thinking. Perhaps none of us do it enough.